


Under a Pale Heart

by justwanderingneverlost



Series: Under A Pale Heart [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aerys is basically a mob boss, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boxing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gun Violence, He is Dany's uncle not her father, Hurt/Comfort, Illegal Fighting, Jon's a fighter, Mentions of Rape, Modern Westeros, No Incest, Past Jon Snow/Ygritte, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Slow Burn, Smut, mentions of prison time, mentions of violent assault, more psychopath than mad man, past trauma, physical assault, underground fighting, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:47:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 73,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25530832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justwanderingneverlost/pseuds/justwanderingneverlost
Summary: Jon Snow, The White Wolf, has come to the attention of mob boss, "King" Aerys Targaryen. After spending six years in prison, charged with two counts of accessory to murder, he's been sprung four years early. The deal; he fights, Aerys finds Jon's lost siblings—wards of the state after their parents' deaths.It was a deal with the devil he was more than willing to make. But a new player walks into the game, one Jon never counted on, Aerys' niece, Daenerys Targaryen, and now the stakes are higher than ever.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Series: Under A Pale Heart [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158980
Comments: 814
Kudos: 531





	1. Done All Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> I did it. I finally fucking did. Three years this fic has been swimming in my head y'all!! Three years!! I thought it was only two then I went digging and found the first board I ever made for it and damn if it wasn't dated Aug 17' 😱 
> 
> I have 12 chapters plotted out, boards made, songs picked, and even scattered scenes written here and there. Hopefully it's been with me long enough I can get it written in a timely manner for you guys. I'm not gonna promise an update schedule though, cause I will inevitably break it 🙈 but I still plan on updating at least once a month as I juggle other fics, namely mine and Ash's. 
> 
> We're working on Dragons, one for Jonerys week which starts tomorrow!!! And also have another we're both itching to start, amongst all the rest. So many ideas and so little time! 😣
> 
> But enough of my wailing and whining, I have teased this bitch long enough lol. I do hope you all enjoy it and that I've made it worth the wait!  
> Huge thanks to Ashley for being my absolute bestie who always holds my hand and calms my fried nerves. I love you to the moon and back!! ❤️ I also have to thank Aenar for looking this over for me! He's gonna be my fighter encyclopedia for this one so I'm sure it get the details right and he's one of the best cheerleaders I have too, along with miss Blackhawk. Love you both! ❤️
> 
> See y'all on the flip side! 😘

Done me wrong

Done all wrong

All the wrong I've done

I'm sure I'll live quite long

Done all wrong

Done me wrong

All the wrong I've done

I'm sure I'll live quite, quite long

All the wrong I've done

Will be undone in song

All the wrong I've done

Will be undone in song

If you're doing wrong

If you've done all wrong

You can rest assure

You're gonna live quite long

If you've done all wrong

You're doing wrong

You can rest assure

You're gonna live quite, quite long

All the wrong you've done

Will be undone in song

All the wrong you've done

Will be undone in song

We're doing wrong

We've all done wrong

If we do no wrong

I'm sure we would be gone

Done All Wrong - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

  
  
  


_Seventy two. Seventy three. Seventy four._

_Breathe in, breathe out._

_Don't… think. Don't… think. Don't… think._

_Eighty. Eighty one. Eighty t—_

The loud clatter of wood crossing the metal bars behind him made him falter. He should've expected it. Daily occurrence that it was. "Get up, Snow White!" Thorne barked. "No need to keep prettying yourself up. You've already been adopted."

His heart seized. Breath caught. Hope dared to flicker to life within his cold heart. He smothered it.

_It'd only been two days. Thorne couldn't be right._

He pushed himself to his feet and brushed the dust from his hands as he slowly turned and eyed Thorne through the grey bars. He waited. There was no point asking him what he was going on about, or even speaking at all. Thorne never let anyone finish a sentence. Besides, Jon enjoyed watching him turn red, seeing the veins pop out on his forehead when he couldn't poke or prod Jon into a reaction. 

It was really the only source of amusement he'd found in the hell he was trapped in. 

There was already a ruddy tint crawling up the guard's neck as he beat his club against the bars again. Jon had learned long ago to not even blink at the deafening sound. "Did you hear me, _boy?"_ he sneered, spit flying. Jon dropped his eyes down at the foamy spots that had landed a few inches from his feet and slowly back up again. Thorne's top lip quivered. He pressed his face against the bars, a mad dog outside the cage instead of in it. "Put a fucking shirt on and get your shit. They're waiting on you. I finally get my wish of never seeing your pretty fucking face again. You're free. From here at least," he hissed, then caught himself, as he always seemed to do, but never soon enough. He stepped back and wiped a hand over his mouth, then down his thigh, drying the spittle off. 

Grenn called out from the next cell, spreading the word no doubt as Slynt gave a strangled giggle from his corner. He scrambled from his bunk and stood at Jon's side. He smelled like piss. He always smelled like piss. The nasty fucker. Jon leaned his head away from him as he felt the bastard's heated breath fill his ear. "Told ya I could get you outta here," his cellmate crowed softly, grabbing Jon's arm, long nails biting into his skin. He pulled free of his grasp but it didn't dissuade Slynt in the least. He plastered himself to Jon’s side. "Tell the King about me when you see him. You owe me, Wolf. Don't forget."

As the voices grew louder down the block he shoved him off and Slynt stumbled back onto his bunk, letting out a vicious curse when his head hit the bunk above.

"You stay right there, Slynt," Thorne snarled, pointing the club through the bars at him. The keys jangled as he pulled them from his belt. The whole block had taken up their cups, banging them on the bars. It was a tune to be sure. "And hurry up, Snow! I don't got all day!"

Jon didn't trust it, the queer quivering in his heart almost painful. His fingers slid over it, pressing, met the puckered scar that still looked barely healed. He sucked in a breath through his nose and slowly released it and did as he was told. It didn't take long to gather his few belongings after slipping on his shirt. It was a waste. He'd be back. They were all getting worked up for nothing. Tomorrow would be the same as the last two thousand. It’d be years before he saw them again. If ever.

The howls started as soon as Thorne swung open the cell door, the hinges screeching loud enough he winced. The chanting began as he cuffed his wrists. His ankles too. As if he was some mass murderer. He wasn't, but there was enough blood on his hands the guilt would never leave him. That it scared Thorne shitless was his only boon. He never let him out unless he was cuffed. The coward.

The banging grew louder, ringing in his ears. He wished they’d stop.

"The White Wolf! The White Wolf! Wolf, wolf, wolf!" 

Three hundred voices howled.

Thorne stood and grabbed him by the shoulder, shoving him forward. "You know, they won't love you like this outside," he yelled as the chanting started again. He gave Jon a menacing grin before jabbing him in the ribs with his club. "I lied about you being free," he jeered. 

Jon nearly stumbled, chains rattling at the sudden jerk his feet gave, mimicking the unsteady beat of his heart. Thorne laughed and Jon had never wanted to beat him bloody more. Just grab his club. One swift blow to the head would do it. He’d never get out then. 

It’s what he deserved. Two fold. What they should've given him. Life for a life. For some repulsive reason the judge had decided their lives had only been worth ten years of his. But he knew ten lifetimes wouldn't be enough to erase what he’d done. What he hadn't done. 

"You're just trading one cage for another. You mark my words, boy!" Thorne hollered as the howls went up again. "After a month under the King's thumb you'll be crying to come home."

  
  


—

  
  


The alarm sounded, harsh as it split the air across the valley, the clatter of the opening gate joining it as it began its slow shaky crawl to the left. 

Most would probably run the moment they could slip through, but Jon waited, sure if he even took a single step they'd come and drag him back. It had to be a game. He wouldn't let them win, wouldn't give himself that much hope just to have it snatched away. 

But he would take what pleasure he could. He turned his face up to the sky. It had been days since he'd seen the sun, and apparently it would be days more. Dreary grey clouds hung low over the hills, washing out the light. Still a better sight than chipping paint over concrete and flickering fluorescent lights. 

The December air was cold, biting into his bare skin. His wet hair made it worse. They'd hosed him down again. It made him wonder if they were worried what those on the outside would think if they didn't release him in pristine condition. The t-shirt he’d struggled into after–two sizes too small–was no match for the damp bitter wind, heavy with the scent of rotting leaves and rich, wet soil. A bone deep tremor ran through him. The weather had been much the same the February day the bus had brought him in. 

Six years before.

And now, after signing his life over to someone else, he was leaving four years early. 

The plastic bag filled with his things crinkled and complained in his nervous grip as he stared through the moving chain link at the Range Rover parked at the end of the walkway. His ride to _freedom._ One might call it ominous. Unless their only other choice was the prison at their back. It was blacked out—paint, wheels, windows too. And someone was watching him. He could feel their stare prickling at his neck. A glance up at the guards in the tower above him proved it wasn't them, their scopes pointed elsewhere.

Sure enough the moment the gate clanged to a stop, the passenger door opened and a man twice his size got out, stepping over and pulling open the back door. He was dressed in a black suit and tie. Sunglasses too. His jet black hair was pulled back into one long braid. Beard thick, but neat—skin, dark olive. 

_Dornish maybe? Or southern Essos?_

_Did it matter? Probably not._ Whoever he was and wherever he was from, he was a pretentious fuck for wearing sunglasses on an overcast winter day. 

They stared off, neither moving. 

“In or out!” 

Jon’s eyes shot up to the guard shack again. Saw the snarling glare and waving rifle aimed his way. He’d feared them that first year. Armoured, arrogant arseholes. Maybe even the second too. But not anymore. 

“Last chance, boy! Move!”

That old burning bitterness churned in his gut and erupted. He threw his middle finger up with a grin. He could almost see the bastard trembling with rage beneath his bullet proof vest. Two more joined the first, all three probably wanting to jump down and kick his ass. They could try. 

He walked out, left hell behind, half expecting to feel some sort of snap or spike of pain in his spine as he passed through the gate. Surely leaving a place you’d spent six years of your life in would break something within a person. Even if it was only a small thing. But he felt nothing. There was nothing whole within him to break. 

Without a word to or a glance given to Mr. Sunglasses, Jon folded himself inside the Range Rover and shut the door behind him. A second guy, near identical to the first, was behind the wheel—same size, suit, sunglasses and all. His twin joined them and they were off. Warmth was slowly beginning to creep into his bones. An odd feeling he'd forgotten. He dropped his head back against the seat, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes, not bothering to watch the Wall disappear from view. He’d seen it enough and didn't care if he ever saw it again. 

Whatever his future held, it had to be better than his past. Thorne was wrong. He was never going back. He’d take a fucking bodybag first. 

  
  


—

  
  


Jon was used to time creeping by at a snail-like pace, but even to him the ride was long. And unsettlingly silent. 

He kept himself occupied watching the North fade away outside his window. They were headed south. Mountains fell to hills, fewer trees dotted them, more homes popped up. 

He couldn't help but wonder if they were in any of the houses they passed. If they were happy. Safe. If he would actually see them again like he’d been promised. 

Promised by the Devil apparently. 

He heaved a breath and rubbed his hands over his face. 

_What the fuck had he done?_

The chance of ever seeing them again was nothing more than a wisp of smoke slipping through grasping fingers, he knew. But it was the only glimmer of hope he’d had in a sea of darkness. He couldn't not reach for it, a devil’s promise or no. 

It was a choice that was no choice at all. 

Staying where he was, not trying… That hadn't even been a fleeting option in his mind. Trading one prison for another was nothing if it meant he found them in the end. He’d fight a thousand men if that's what it took. He’d promised them. And failed them. He had to fix it. _Needed to_. If it was the last thing he did. 

His eyes fell closed, their tear-streaked faces dancing behind his lids, their crying and begging echoing in his head just like they had countless times before. And just like always he forced himself to breathe through the fucking ache in his chest, the hole that had been there for nearly seven years. The one he feared would never close. 

Somewhere during hour three he allowed himself to fall asleep, only to wake not long after when they stopped for petrol. Again, neither of his babysitters said a word to him. Following their lead he got out without asking and headed to the loo. He wasn't surprised when he acquired a giant shadow. Nor by the sickness he felt walking into the store, his blood running cold, the sweat building on his brow. He wiped a trembling hand over his mouth, swallowed down the rising bile and ignored the rest, kept his eyes forward and got his business done. 

Five minutes later and the world was slipping past him again, his breathing easier.

He’d never been to King's Landing, but two hours later and he had no doubt that's where they’d taken him. Nowhere else was so big, or had so many people. Even inside the car away from all the chaos he felt as if he was back inside the Wall with nowhere to run or get away from the constant noise, the smothering press of bodies. Knives slipping through skin and muscle in the dark. 

He sat up and drew in a deep breath and immediately regretted it. The stench wasn't much different than the Wall either. The windows were closed but it had seeped in through the air vents. It reminded him of Slynt. He wrinkled his nose and breathed through his mouth.

After winding through the maze of streets for nearly half an hour they finally came to a stop, both of his escorts immediately getting out. Jon grabbed his bag of meager belongings as he looked out at the white brick building. It was no different than the other hundred he’d seen so far. Store front, four or five floors, windows spaced and stacked like prisoners all in rows. There were even bars over them. Big black letters spelled out _Seaworth’s_ across the front, just over the large frosted glass windows _._

That was it, nothing else to clue him in. He had no idea if he was about to be forced to shop for clothes, or sailing equipment.

His door opened and he moved to climb out, but Mr. Sunglasses pointed at the bag in his hand and shook his head. With a roll of his eyes he dropped it to the floorboard and got out. A bell jangled over his head as they entered and walked down a long hallway that gave nothing away. Once again Jon knew where they’d brought him, though. The smell of sweat and leather hung heavy in the air. Added to the muffled galloping of a speed bag and the swishing snaps of a rope and it was clue enough. If they hadn't done it, the deep repetitive smacks of gloves meeting a punching bag would have.

He probably shouldn't have felt relief, but he did. This he knew. This he could trust. Boxing. Fighting. Gathering all the hate and rage and pain and focusing it into his fists. Gods help whatever they met. 

Another door was opened and the source of his ease laid before him. It was an old gym, but no less used. Half a dozen fighters were—or had been—going through their paces at the various bags and ropes. One in the ring. Shining with sweat and light on his feet, jabs quick as they met the mitts of his grizzled trainer. All of them came to a halt at their interruption, every set of eyes following them across the room.

Jon and his goons stopped at the ring and the old trainer spared them a glance before he tugged his mitts off and passed them to the kid who’d been punching them. He nodded him out of the ring before he turned to face them, bracing his hands on the ropes. A pair of faded blue eyes met Jon’s and took him in for a long drawn out moment. Jon did the same to him. Despite his salt and pepper hair and beard he didn't appear as old as Jon first thought. Maybe sixty, give or take a year. Fit too, for his age.

“Welcome to Seaworth's. I'm Davos.”

“I'm—”

“I know who you are, Jon Snow.” 

Jon blinked but didn't bother arguing with him. He could think what he wanted, most people did. 

Davos pushed off the ropes. “Well alright then, get up here and let's have a look at ya,” he told him with a wave of his hand. Being inspected was nothing new, so Jon strode to the stairs and climbed through the ropes. “You two can see yourselves out,” Seaworth grumbled at his babysitters as he came to a stop in front of him. “You're interruptin’ my boys here. I’ll bring him out when I’m done with him.”

The two goons had a stare off with the old man, but eventually turned and slowly walked out the way they’d come in. The noises returned, everyone going back to their training. 

Seaworth faced him and held his hands out, palms up. “Let's see em.”

No need to ask what exactly it was he wanted to see, Jon stuck his hands out over his. His wrists were grabbed, and every inch of his hands were inspected through squinted, knowing eyes. Palms, knuckles, fingers. Each thin bone along the back pressed end to end before those eyes met his again. 

“How many times you broke em?” 

Jon lifted his left hand with one finger raised. Then his right, the last three fingers held up.

Seaworth kissed his teeth and shook his head at him. “No more a’ that. Without those ya can't win a thing.” He grasped him by the shoulders then, and squeezed, patted down his arms. “You’ve kept yourself strong I see,” he noted with a pointed look at his skin tight clothes. Jon didn't bother commenting. He knew where he’d come from. “That's good. The sturdier the better.” He let him go and headed towards the stairs. “Follow me, lad.”

They left the ring and made their way to the back of the gym and into a cluttered office filled with filing cabinets, lockers, and a desk—one chair behind, two in front. All piled high with gloves and mitts and rolls of tape. 

While Jon loitered in the doorway, Davos opened one of the lockers and plundered about for a moment, grumbling to himself as he did so. He came up empty-handed and slammed the locker closed with a scowl. “Gendry! What happened to those sweats?!” he hollered and opened another locker. 

“Third one,” a voice answered right behind Jon a moment later. He turned to see the kid who’d been in the ring. Most of the sweat was gone, no doubt into the stark white towel he had around his neck. The faint scent of bleach mixed with deodorant wafted around him. If Jon were to guess he was only a year or so younger than him, if that. _Gendry,_ apparently, gave him a small smile and a nod.

Jon nodded back as Davos let out an _ah ha_ and produced three sets of sweats in black and grey. 

He handed them over to Jon. “Doubt you’ve had much chance to do any runnin’, but that's about to change. Every mornin’ ‘fore ya come in, in those,” he instructed, a finger pointed as the stack of sweats Jon now held. “All my boys are known for their endurance. I expect no different from you.”

He nodded again. 

Davos’ grey head jerked towards Gendry. “This here's Gendry Waters. He ain't mine, but I claim him. Fights when he wants, helps run the place when he don't. You two are the same size, strength and weight too by the looks of ya. He’ll be your sparrin' partner.” His eyes narrowed and he held up a finger. “You hurt him and it’ll be me you answer to, not the King. Understood?”

It was an unnecessary threat. He answered it with another nod. 

Davos huffed at him, hands going to his hips. “Gods’ sake, boy. Don't you talk?”

Jon decided he wouldn't remind him the one time he’d tried and Davos had cut him off. He just held his gaze. “When I have to.”

Gendry chuckled at his side and Davos gave him a glare.

“Get, boy, and shut the door behind you,” he grumbled at him. 

With a smirk aimed Jon’s way, Gendry held his hand out. “Nice to meet ya. See ya in the mornin’.”

Jon shifted the sweats into one arm and shook it. “See ya.”

Davos waited until the door was closed then went about plundering his office for something else. “I don't know what ya done to get where you were, don't gotta know. I'm no saint myself. But you're here now.” He faced Jon again, this time with an empty brown canvas duffle bag hanging from one hand. “I'm your keeper for the foreseeable future,” he said as he plopped it on top of a precarious pile of papers on his desk. He pulled it open and plucked a sweatshirt from Jon’s arm and stuffed it inside. “Things’ll go smoother for us both if you hurry up and get that chip off your shoulder.”

He grit his teeth and let out a slow breath before handing over the rest of the sweats. “Not something you need to worry about. I'm just not much for talkin’.”

“Ya don't say,” Davos returned and chuckled at his own joke. 

Jon managed a small smirk though it was forced. “How far you want me to run?”

“Far as you can, then further still,” he told him as he finished packing his sweats and added two rolls of tape. Why Jon needed those outside of the gym he wasn't sure. Davos went to his desk chair, dumping the mitts within it to the floor before he sat down, the metal swivel squealing as he reclined back. 

“I can do that,” he finally acknowledged.

“Good.” He threw his hands up and rubbed them over his wiry hair before linking them behind his head, his eyes focusing back on Jon. “Too late in the day to put ya through your paces now, I suppose. You got other places to be, but get here bright and early in the mornin’ and we’ll get started. I know you're good, he wouldn't have bothered with ya otherwise. Still like to see where you're at though, get ya settled in with how we do things.”

“I’ll be here.”

He sat forward, his chair giving another loud screech, and took out a key from the top drawer of his desk. He used it to open the bottom one. A large manilla envelope was pulled out, stuffed full of something. Davos stuck it in the duffle bag with his sweats and looked at him, caution heavy in his blue eyes. “That's for you. An advance from the King.”

Jon shifted on his feet, a deep foreboding setting him back on his heels. He’d agreed days ago, ran from his cage, took the long ride south… But accepting money—that felt like a step one could never undo. His heart felt drained of blood, pale and pulseless, yet thumped a hard beat behind its scar.

“Nothing for it, lad,” Davos said quietly. “There's no goin’ back now. Only way out is straight through.” He wagged his finger at him again. “Remember that.” 

He was right, Jon knew it. He stuffed the envelope into the bag and zipped it up. His debts were too high to ever pay back, it didn't matter how much or little had just been added to them. 

“They’ll take ya to your new place once you leave here, but you’ll need clothes, food and such. And most important, a way to get back here everyday. The walk’s too far.” He searched his desk until he found a scrap of paper and a pencil, jotting down something before passing it over. 

Jon took it for him. _Saan’s Cycles. 10 River Row. KING’S LANDING. SW1A 2AA._

“That's the address to a friend a’ mine. He restores old bikes. He's expecting ya, already has several set aside for you to choose from. Don't forget the helmet. Can't have ya crashing and cracking your skull open.” His blue eyes went a bit wide. “You can ride, can't ya?”

He hadn't had a motorcycle beneath him since he was fifteen, but that wasn't something one forgot. He hated that he was a bit giddy at the prospect. He stuffed the address into his pocket. “Been awhile, but yeah.”

“Good. Get goin’ then. We’ll see ya in the mornin’.”

Jon gripped the handles of the duffle and carefully lifted it so the papers beneath didn't spill into the floor. “Thanks,” he muttered as he walked to the door.

“Don't thank me yet, lad. You got no idea what you just walked into.”

There wasn't really an answer for that so he gave him another nod and saw himself out. 

  
  


—

  
  


Ten minutes later, his bags in hand, he stood outside a corner pub. Brick painted black. Windows made of crown glass. _The Dragon Pit,_ the carved wooden sign that hung over the door said. Complete with a fire breathing dragon.

The driver had stayed behind in the Rover, but his twin unlocked the door and led the way inside. It was empty, of course. Closed on Mondays according to the hours painted on another sign just outside the door. The stillness and quiet seemed at odds with the space he stood in. It was beautiful in its own way. The rich wood gleaming everywhere he looked. The bar, the floors, walls and even the ceiling. While the muted evening sun slanted through the thick wavy windows and made the rows and rows of liquor and glasses sparkle and shine like the Christmas lights he remembered from his childhood. It smelled of smoke and wood and alcohol. He liked it. 

“You work here.”

He jerked his head around, startled at finally hearing his escort’s stilted and gravelly voice. The big guy stood at the opposite end of the bar and had taken his glasses off. His eyes were nearly black. It could've been the dim light, but Jon didn't think so. 

“Doing what?” he asked. 

“Bounce, clean, stock. Whatever Dany needs.”

“Dany?”

“Bartender.”

Davos and Gendry had seemed nice enough. Hopefully this Dany dude would be too. He nodded. “When?”

“Four. Tomorrow. After training,” came his gruff answer. He turned and walked toward the back of the bar. Jon followed.

They passed a few small booths. A pool room with three tables. And then made their way between an office and a stockroom. Jon thought he was just showing him around until they reached another door at the back of the building and the goon opened it to reveal a narrow stairwell that rose to the second floor. They climbed it, every step creaking beneath their feet. 

“You live here,” he proclaimed once they reached the top.

It was a loft. As big as the entire pub below. Worn wood floors. Washed brick walls. Exposed beam ceiling. Surprisingly it wasn't empty, but sparsely furnished. An old leather couch and chair set. A couple of low tables. Jon didn't believe any of it had been brought there for him. Someone else had once lived there and left it all behind. A spindly spiral staircase stood in one corner. A punching bag hung in another. 

Now he knew why Davos had thrown in the tape. 

A sleek little black cellphone was shoved at him. For one panicked moment Jon thought the goon had called the King and it was time to speak to him, but his fear was waylaid. “Yours. Answer when he calls. Seaworth too. And Dany.” 

He took it from him and gave a nod.

With that, his escort left and Jon was utterly alone for the first time in six long years. He didn't know what to do with himself. 

He was out. Had a roof over his head, two jobs, and what he suspected was at least five thousand pounds stuffed in the duffle bag he still held in his hand. He hadn't had it so good since he was a kid. Yet somehow he felt as caged in and trapped as he’d been at the Wall. Maybe more so.

Pacing never helped, but he did it anyway. At least his new _cell_ had more room. And there were no bars to stare through either, only dirty window panes. Lots of them. He was pleased about that if nothing else. It wasn't much, but still more than he’d ever had. More than he ever thought he would. It was a start.

Eventually he found his new bed. A good sized mattress on the floor in a small room at the top of the spiral stairs. There was an even smaller bath at the far end of it, but he wouldn't have to shit and shower with an audience anymore. 

The kitchen held a scant amount of dishes. Enough for him. The appliances were ancient, but still seemed to work when he twisted the knobs and pushed the buttons. A tiny table with two chairs sat beside the empty refrigerator. He’d checked, only then realizing he’d had nothing to eat the entire day. 

He’d dropped the duffle onto the table before he began his prowling. He went back to it and slid open the zipper, pulling his wallet out of the plastic bag he’d been carrying all day. It was smooth and soft beneath his fingers just as he remembered. He flipped it open and removed the worn wrinkled picture he’d put in it so long ago. The knives that had found their marks within his chest sunk deep once more and all he felt was their pain.

Sansa, Arya, and Rickon smiled up at him through his watery eyes. His siblings. The only ones left. The ones he’d failed. The ones he had to get back. The ones he missed more than the air that had left him lungs.

He sucked in a great shuddering breath as his thumb rubbed over Arya's little face, her smile goofy. 

_Don't let them take us._

_It's just for a little while. I’ll find you, soon. I swear._

He would. He finally had a chance now. A chance to find them, get them back. Together, where they belonged. Whatever it took, he’d do it for them. 

He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled off an old _Welcome to Westeros_ magnet before pressing the picture of his siblings to the cool metal. The magnet snatched itself from his fingers and snapped into place, echoing in the emptiness. But it held them there. Just as his heart did. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Fever's Got Me Stressing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon's first day in his new reality has got him stressing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy seven hells y'all... I think this fic might do me in. I am STRESSIN'. Being a perfectionist is a curse. Such a curse!
> 
> Anyway, enough of my whinging. Thank you all for that overwhelming response to chapter one!! Some of y'all had me blubbering and I appreciate it so very much! And I absolutely have to thank my friends... Ashley, Shayl, Frost, and Aenar, this chapter would not be possible without all of you holding my hand and challenging me to make it the best it could be. Thank you all for your love and support, I love each and every one of you with my whole heart! 
> 
> Any mistakes are mine because I cannot leave well enough alone. *runs and hides*

  
  


_ Fever, where'd you run to? _

_ Fever, where'd you run to? _

_ Acting right is so routine _

_ Fever let me live a dream _

_ Fever I'm a slave to _

_ No one misbehave too _

_ Fever that misunderstood _

_ Wouldn't leave you if I could _

_ Fever _

_ Fever cause I'm breaking _

_ Fever got me aching _

_ Fever, why don't you explain? _

_ Break it down again _

_ Fever got me guilty _

_ Just go ahead and kill me _

_ Fever, why don't you explain? _

_ Break it down again _

_ Fever, can you hear me? _

_ Fever, can you hear me? _

_ You shook me like I never been _

_ Now show me how to live again _

_ It used to be a blessing _

_ But fever's got me stressing _

_ Realize I am to blame _

_ But fever let me play the game _

_ Fever _

_ Fever cause I'm breaking _

_ Fever got me aching _

_ Fever, why don't you explain? _

_ Break it down again _

_ Fever got me guilty _

_ Just go ahead and kill me _

_ Fever, why don't you explain? _

_ Break it down again _

_ Now if the cold, pale, light in your eyes _

_ Reaches those horizon lines _

_ You know not to leave her _

_ Now if the cold, pale, light in your eyes _

_ Reaches those horizon lines _

_ You know not to leave her _

_ Fever _

**_Fever - The Black Keys_ **

  
  
  
  


“Oy! What happened to my sweats?” 

He cracked his eyes open to see Davos standing over him through his lashes, still clumped together with sweat. He had his hands on his hips as he glowered down at him where he was sprawled out on the gym floor. He’d collapsed after his morning run. His legs no better than jelly. Face on fire. Heart thrashing. Pulse throbbing in his temples while his chest heaved again and again to catch all the oxygen his lungs could. His stomach was still queazy as fuck too. It took him a moment to work out what it was the old man was going on about.

Then he remembered the pair of rusty scissors he’d found in the bar’s storeroom. He’d taken them to the legs and sleeves of his new sweats. Apparently Davos didn't approve. He’d have to get over it. The fucking heat would kill him otherwise. 

He managed to raise his hand and point toward the door. “It’s hot as seven… fuckin’ hells out there,” he panted and let his hand flop back down with a thump. His knuckles gave a sharp throb.

_ “Hot?”  _ Davos barked. “It's winter last I knew.”

Jon closed his eyes and rolled his head back and forth, the wood floor stony under his skull. “S’not. Not where I come from. We call that summer.”

_ Fuck running. Fuck it straight up the arse. _

“Did you run all the way here from the bar?” Davos murmured, or maybe not. Maybe it was just all that could get through the ringing in his ears.

“Aye,” he breathed, not bothering to open his eyes. “Well, no. Stopped three times... to puke.” A coughing fit took him and he grabbed his guts and curled up against the pain until it passed. He sprawled back out as soon as it did. “Had to walk… after those.”

Davos cursed under his breath. “Didn't I tell ya it was too far?”

“Had to get here somehow and you told me to run.”

“I didn't tell ya to try an’ kill yourself.” he ranted. “And seems like I also told ya to go to Saan’s and get a bike.”

“It was too late to go last night.”

He felt a kick to his foot. “Get yourself up and showered off. You’ll go now. Ya won't be worth shit the rest of…”

The way he trailed off had Jon’s eyes cracking open again. Davos had his old blue ones focused on his stomach. It didn't take much of a guess to know what he was looking at. Jon pulled his shirt down and rolled over with a groan before pressing himself up onto his hands and knees, then eventually to his feet. They stared at each other for a moment, questions dancing over Davos’ face. Questions Jon was in no mood to answer. Without a word he turned and shuffled on wobbly legs to the showers, thankful for the little sign over the door for giving him a direction to go in. 

He took a cold one and slowly but surely felt himself coming back to rights by the time he was done, though his knees still felt weak and his stomach was cramping. He turned the water off and blindly reached for the towel he had found and worked at drying his mop of hair before wrapping it around his waist. He was tying it off at his hip when he walked out and realized he had an audience. 

Davos and Gendry sat on one of the long benches in front of the lockers, both staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at his chest. Gendry's eyes hit the floor the moment Jon’s met his. He got up, lunged forward to pass him the water bottle he held. Jon took it and he left with a few muffled words Jon didn't catch. Davos, though, stayed right where he was. 

Ignoring him for the time being, Jon drank down several gulps of what he’d assumed was water, but turned out to be an overly fruity and fake sports drink. He pulled a face as he met Seaworth's gaze. 

“Electrolytes,” he grunted at him. “You need em, but drink em slow or you’ll puke again. When I said run I meant—” He shook his head and ran a hand over his face before he crossed his arms over his chest, his back ramrod straight. “Before you leave today, don't let me forget to pull the runnin’ sheets for ya.”

“Runnin’ sheets?”

“Printouts of a trainin’ schedule.”

Still tired and feeling more than standoffish, he propped his shoulder against the doorway he’d just come through and crossed his own arms over his chest. He hated his scars, and while there was nothing he could do to rid himself of them, he could cover them up. Davos had had plenty of time to get his fill. “You got questions obviously. Ask em.”

Davos gave him a pained grimace and sighed. “Those gonna cause any problems I need to be aware of?” 

He’d known what to expect, but still his fists clenched; a habit he’d developed to keep from rubbing at them every time they were mentioned. He drew in a slow breath and dropped his eyes to the tile floor beneath his feet. Tiny black and white octagons in a crazy pattern that had his eyes wanting to cross. He squeezed them closed and pressed his lips together, wholly aware of the queer flip his heart gave, like it knew it had become the subject of conversation. It did it often enough now, he should be used it. Somehow he knew he never would be. “A few twinges every now and then,” was all he offered. 

“Twinges? How bad are these twinges?”

He pushed himself upright and pointed at the pile of clothes stacked beside Davos. “Those for me?”

Davos glanced at them and back up before giving him a nod. “Some Gendry left here. They're yours now.”

Jon sat the water bottle down and picked up the tank folded on top and pulled it over his head. The grey sweats went on next, settling them on his hips beneath the towel before taking it off. He’d free ball it till he could get out and get some clothes bought. “Bad enough I notice, but not enough to stop me,” he finally replied as he toweled more water from his hair. 

“That one had to have got your heart.”

“Aye.”

He heard Davos heave a breath from under his towel and it made his teeth grind. He balled the towel up and flung it into the basket at the end of the bench before eyeing the old man, not bothering to hide his irritation. 

Davos appeared apologetic, his head dropping a bit, but he let out another sigh as he rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “I need to know, lad. I ain't lettin’ ya fight until I do.”

A familiar red haze filled his vision, his ears suddenly ringing again and growing hot. “I have to fight! I  _ need _ to fight,” he bit out. “That's the deal. If I don't hold up my end—”

“Aye, I know,” Davos quickly assured him, a hand up, “but I need to know your limits. The real ones, not what your hard head insists on. I’ll not have you droppin’ dead on me.”

An odd bark of laughter left him and he let his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling, hands on his hips. “I’ve done it once, it’s bound to happen again eventually, no use worryin’ about when.”

_ “What?” _

Jon ignored his shock and ran his hands through his hair, shook out his curls so they would be somewhere near tamed. “It fucked up one of my valves alright. They repaired it and it works, just as not as well as it used to. Leaks or something. But it hasn't slowed me down since the surgery, and it won't. That's all you need to know.”

Davos sat there for a time taking it in and he waited to see which way he’d fall. If he refused to train him like the King wanted, Jon would go to him himself and ask him to find someone else. No one was gonna stop him from keeping his side of the deal up. Not again.

Eventually Davos uncrossed his arms and slapped his palms on his thighs and Jon’s knotted nerves released like tripped springs. “Alright then, get your shoes on and meet Gen out back. He's gonna take ya around town. Get what you need bought and then come back here. We’ll see what, if anything, you're up for then.”

Jon sat down and picked up one of his shoes. “I’ll be up for whatever you want to throw at me.”

“We’ll see.” Davos stood and left without another word. 

  
  


—

  
  


Gendry was waiting on him inside an old ratty Volvo, the dull green paint faded out to grey here and there. The back left hub was missing. The windows fogged. 

He drew in a deep breath and blew it out before he opened the passenger door. Being chummy wasn't his strong suit, but he needed to learn his way around. Find some clothes and fucking food. He’d scavenged some roasted peanuts and a pack of crisps from the bar storeroom the night before, all he’d had in the past twenty four hours. Or did have until he’d puked them up into a storm drain.

The moment he dropped into the seat Gendry passed over a pack of smokes. “Don't fuckin’ tell em, he’ll kill us both.”

Jon grinned despite himself and shut the door before taking the pack from him. He was pulling in a deep drag a minute later as Gendry turned out of the lot. His lungs burned, but  _ fuck _ it was good. He cracked the window and blew a trail of smoke into the morning air, the passing wind snatching it away. “Thanks. Needed this,” he offered. 

Gendry sat up further over the wheel, but threw him a quick smirk. “Thought ya might. He means well. Has a thing for… Taking guys like us in, I guess you could say.”

Jon cut him a look though he tried his best not to get his hackles up. Gendry didn't look the type to have spent any hard time, but then again, he probably didn't either. “How long you been with him?” he asked and took another drag. 

He frowned as if Jon had asked him to answer a complicated equation. “Five years now, I guess. Found me digging through his trash for food.” Jon managed to keep his reaction contained, lifting his face up and blowing another stream of smoke out the window. “I’d basically been running the streets since I was ten. My mum died then. Some of her friends tried to shuffle me between em for awhile. I didn't like em much. I managed to get a construction job at fifteen. Lost it at seventeen. Only went hungry a couple weeks before he took me in.”

No hard time, but not an easy life either. Maybe he wouldn't be a git to deal with after all. He probably expected Jon’s to share his sob story in return, but he wasn't really in the mood. “You like fightin’ for him?”

“Davos? I don't fight  _ for  _ him. Just like doing it. Something I’m good at.”

Jon flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. “What about the King?”

Gendry shook his head. “Nah. Davos won't let me.”

He looked at him, nonplussed. “You look like a grown arse man to me.”

That got an embarrassed chuckle out of him. “Poor choice of words,” he mumbled and gave a shrug. “He saved me when he didn't have to. Got me back on my feet, gave me a chance no one else would. He asked me not to, so I don't.”

_ The ‘only father he’d ever had’ bit. Loyal and devoted.  _

“Got it.”

Silence ensued, only the rattle of the diesel engine offering a distraction, which was none at all. Gendry kept shifting in his seat, licking and biting at his lips, his hands flexing on the steering wheel again and again. 

He was driving Jon fucking crazy. 

“We're gonna be kickin’ each other's arses soon. Ask what ya wanna ask before you piss yourself,” he nearly snarled just to get him to be still. 

He saw Gendry flush bright red out the corner of his eye, felt his uncomfortable laugh going down his spine like nails on a chalkboard. “Sorry, mate. I didn't mean to—”

“I was jumped in my cell one night,” he cut over him. The words had rushed out of him, their edge much harder than he’d intended, but he couldn't help it. 

He felt it every time. The first cool blade sliding into his gut, and then another, and another. Sharp and biting. Over and over, flashing in the dark, sinking deep. Sneering faces in the shadows. The hot spill of his blood sliding over his skin. The bitterness that flooded his mouth. The slick pool gathering beneath him. And the cold. It was always so cold.

He didn't startle too bad at Gendry's stunned curse. Managed a nod of agreement. “Looks like you'd bleed out if I hit ya one good time,” he breathed.

Jon shook his head. “Already did the bleedin’. I won't die if ya hit me. An you better fuckin’ hit me, cause I’m gonna fuckin’ hit you.”

Gendry laughed again, nervous like. “Was it your cellmate?” he dared to ask after a long pause.

“I need ya to take me to the bar,” he told him. He was done talking about it. “That alright?” He sucked down the rest of his cigarette in one long drag, letting the burn take over the anxiety clawing at him. He flicked the butt out the window wishing he could follow it. Wishing he could run straight to them, then run again. Get them all away, somewhere safe.

“Uh… yeah,” Gendry stumbled out. 

“Need my wallet. Didn't expect to be spendin’ money this mornin’,” he offered, forcing calm into his voice. Gendry might be annoying the piss out of him, but he knew he wasn't trying to. 

“Sure. No problem.”

He had to turn them around, but they were pulling into the alley behind the bar a few minutes later and Jon was out of the car like a shot. The wet morning air was a welcome relief after being stuck in the cramped, smothering space. Shouldn't bother him after living in a cell for so long, but fuck if it didn't make his skin crawl. He spared a glance for the little black Fiat that was parked by the door. Too agitated to give it any thought he attempted to stick his key into the lock. It could've been his hand trembling or Gendry bouncing on his toes right behind him but it took far too long to slot it and even then it wouldn't fucking turn. 

“Fuckin’ fuck!” he fumed, nerves raw and sparking like dried tinder. “What the fuck’s wrong with this fuckin’ thing?”

Gendry barked out a laugh. “Here, I got it.” He pushed him out of the way and Jon scowled at him as he took both hands and pulled up and twisted. The door popped open and Gendry grinned. “It's tricky.” He slipped the key free and held it up to Jon. 

He snatched it from him. “How’d you know how to do that?”

“My best mate, Grey, his girl works here.”

Jon stored that information for later and stepped past him and inside. “I’ll be right back.” He took the stairs to the loft at a run, his irritation pushing him past the complaints of his tired body. 

The duffle was where he left it, his wallet laying on top. He emptied it of everything—sweats, tape, his bag from the Wall… and the manilla envelope. His heart gave a sickening thump before kicking into a race. Nothing for it, he picked up the heavy envelope and pinched the little metal prongs together before lifting the flap. He turned it up and watched one thick stack after another spill out onto the table. A smaller white envelope floated out last. It had his name written on it in a neat but harsh script. 

His fingers trembled as he tore it open and pulled out the folded slip of paper it held. He unfolded it and a check slid out. He caught it before it hit the table. It was half blank. Only the pay to and signature lines filled— _ Salladhor Saan, Aerys Targaryen. _

He swallowed down his nerves and read the letter. 

_ Greetings Jon, _

_ I trust your trip was pleasant. You’ve met Davos by now. I believe he will serve you well. Please accept the enclosed funds as an advance on your pay. A man in your situation is no doubt short necessities. The check is to cover your transportation needs. Spend it wisely. You’ll be pleased to know my sources are already at work tracking down your siblings, though they have told me such things take time. Patience will be key. In the interim, I would appreciate you devoting your skills to Dany and the Dragon Pit. _

_ I shall see you soon.  _

_ The King _

He read it again and again, the uneasiness building with each word, twisting his stomach, turning it sour. He dropped the letter and stared at the pile of money on his table. Hush money, extortion, blackmail. Whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. He didn't know if he would be able to bring himself to spend any of it. 

_ You don't have a choice. You gave your word. _

_ Fucking keep it.  _

Blowing out a harsh breath he picked up one of the stacks and split it in two and stuffed it in his sweats before remembering he was bare arsed underneath them. He toed off his shoes and stripped out of the sweats, dug out a pair of his white, Wall-issued boxer briefs and pulled them on. One leg of his jeans was sticking out from the pile of sweats and tape he’d discarded into the floor. He grabbed them up and stuffed himself into them. They were tight, but almost like wrapping himself in a security blanket. A piece of who he used to be. He definitely needed more though. 

He got his old beat up trainers back on and grabbed the empty duffle and headed back downstairs. 

Gendry wasn't waiting for him by the door. He glanced outside and didn't see him there either. Then he heard voices coming from the bar, muffled and soft. One was definitely a woman's. Maybe it was the best mate's girl, which probably meant it was her Fiat parked in the alley.

An odd mixture of laughter floated toward him as he neared the baroom. One rough, the other bell-like and immediately making him wonder how such a pure sound was possible in such a place. The bar wasn't dingy, but that laugh was angelic. He emerged to see Gendry propped on a barstool smiling toward a girl who had her back to him. Her hair was nearly white it was so blonde, hanging halfway down her back in flowing waves. It looked like fucking moonlight glowing in the darkness of the bar. 

Hair of a much different color flashed through his memory, kissed by fire and surrounding a pale freckled face. Eyes, a flickering ice blue. 

_ I’ll come back and haunt you. _

His gut twisted. The past rushing through him like a phantom come to slap some sense into him. To laugh at him. To taunt him. 

_ You know nothing, Jon Snow. _

He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to calm. It was just a girl. An enigma he hadn't seen in six years. Not in person. Not his age.  _ Not alive.  _

On a few occasions the Warden had let them watch movies or TV, there were girls in them of course, but Jon had always taken those times to stay in the library, reading. Studying. _Avoiding._

He’d never once regretted it. He did now. 

His heart was pounding, sweat blooming over his skin. Like a fever had just taken him.

“So what's he like?” she asked, her voice so soft and warm all he could think of was a late summer sun shining over him as he drifted off to sleep. She turned around and a set of big doe eyes met his and all the air in the room simply left. 

He’d never seen anything like her. Pale and petite. Curves in all the right places. And her face… 

_ Bloody fucking hells.  _

“There he is,” Gendry said. “Dany, meet Jon. Your new bouncer.”

_ Dany… Dany? Wait, what? No. Gods no.  _

Dany was a dude. An old skinny dude with stringy hair and bad teeth who wore Led Zeppelin t-shirts with holes in them and smoked a quarter ounce of pot a day. Not her. 

_ Please not her. _

She made her way towards him, and his knees grew weaker than they already were. A small smile was pulling at the lushest mouth he’d ever seen while her eyes slowly slid down his body and back up. Curious, but wary. “Nice to meet you Jon,” she greeted, some of the warmth Gendry had gotten now cooled, though not completely gone. 

For once his hackles didn't rise. He was a stranger and she had no doubt dealt with men who ignored the boundaries on the regular. It made sense. Good sense. Her caution would make his job easier. 

He swallowed hard and gave a nod, licking his lips before he could stop himself. “You too, Miss.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners, a quick flash, something about his gruff greeting possibly pleasing her. It wasn't fast enough to spare him from his face growing warm. 

“Dany's fine,” she assured him with a small shake of her head, “since I hear we’re going to be working together.”

He cleared his throat, the stitching of the duffle’s nylon handles in his hand suddenly interesting. “That's what they told me. Do ah… Do you need me here now?” he asked, so breathless he winced. After a slow drag of air into his lungs he met her eyes again. “He said four o’clock, but I can stay.” 

There was a snort of laughter and his eyes shot behind her to see Gendry grinning like a nutter at him. He suddenly couldn't wait to get back to the gym and knock him flat on his arse. Hard.

Dany shook her head again, the sway of her silvery curls drawing his eyes back to her. Her chest specifically. The wispy ends of her hair swinging just below her breasts.  _ Don't look, you fuck. Eyes up. _ “Four’s fine,” she told him. “I was only coming by to pick up something I left.” She took a few steps closer, shoulders back, spine straight as she leaned a hip against the end of the bar counter. Her arms crossed over her chest but her eyes never left his, still searching him out, and he thought maybe Gendry's cigarettes had been laced with something much stronger than tobacco. They were fucking purple, and sparking with challenge if he wasn't too far gone.

“But if you want…” her eyebrows rose, a pink tongue slipping out to wet her full lips, “you can come back around three, or half after.” She gave a slow blink, or maybe he was just a fool. “I can fill you in on things before we open.” 

An odd sort of grunting noise registered in his brain. He managed a jerky nod. 

“Yeah, we can do that,” Gendry piped up overly loud, suddenly at his side and slinging an arm around Jon’s shoulders like they’d been best mates for years. He didn't know if he wanted to thank him or lay him out. “We're late to pick up Grey. Gonna grab some food and then take Jon here to buy him a bike.”

She was still staring at him, that small smile on her beautiful face. His heart did one of its odd squeezing flips. He sucked in another pull of air. “Sounds like a good time,” she said smoothly and turned a brighter smile Gendry's way. “Have fun and tell Grey I said hi.”

“We will!” Gendry spun him around and pushed him towards the back. 

He didn't fight him, his head still swimming. He was in Gendry's car before he knew it, the door squealing and slamming shut like a splash of cold water dumped over his head. A roar of laughter had him glaring at his new  _ mate.  _ His head was thrown back, face red, a hand pressed to his chest as he shook uncontrollably.

“Sod off, you fuck,” Jon snarled at him. Even shoved him over. It only made Gendry laugh harder despite his head smacking the window. 

“I know she's gorgeous, mate,” he gasped and wiped at his eyes, “but you acted like you’d never seen a girl in all your life.”

He should've slumped dead in his seat from the look Jon gave him. “Just the last six years of it.”

That sobered him up quick. He blinked a few times, stunned. “Fuck me. Really?”

“So is she this Grey's girl, then?” he asked, avoiding Gendry's wide eyes and probing question.

“What?  _ No,” _ he said with a shake of his head. “Grey's girl is Missy. Just as gorgeous by the way. They're both from Essos.” He turned the car on, backed it up, and got them back on the road. “Nah, Dany's no one's but Dany's. She's the King’s niece by the way. So you best not get any ideas.”

His eyes fell closed. 

_ Godsdamnit. _

He snatched up the pack of smokes again and lit another. He should make Gendry turn around. Get the money and give it back to Davos. Hitch a fucking ride back to the Wall. 

At least he was used to the torment there. Knew how to cope. 

_ You know nothing, Jon Snow. _

  
  


—

  
  


It was noon when he rode into the lot behind Seaworth's, the Triumph beneath him rumbling, deep and distinct. He loved it at first sight. The taste of freedom it promised. 

It wasn't real, he knew. But he could pretend. Pretend he was free to go wherever he wanted. That no one would chase him down. Throw him back in a cage. That he could ride off and never come back. 

But he wouldn't.

Because he couldn't. 

He’d promised. 

And even if it was six years too late, he meant to keep that promise. 

Gendry and Grey pulled in beside him, the ratty Volvo’s back seat packed full of his new purchases. Clothes and shoes. TV, radio, and DVD player. Shit for the bathroom and kitchen. Sheets and pillows for his bed. Most of which he’d bought at a second hand store.

After picking up Grey and eating breakfast–the first proper meal Jon felt like he’d had in forever–they’d gone and bought him enough food to last a couple weeks and taken it back to the bar. 

The alley had been empty of the little black Fiat and he had been grateful and grieved all at once. 

They’d spent the next half hour in a high end shop, Gendry and Grey both trying to convince him to buy the latest styles. They failed. Aye, he had more money in his pockets than he’d ever had, but it wasn't his. Or it was, if he didn't mind the blood needed to pay it back. 

He’d gone into a thrift store two blocks away and bought enough t-shirts and jeans he wouldn't have to hit the laundry too often. The leather jacket had been a boon. Already worn just so, perfect fit. And cheap. He hadn't splurged until it was time to buy shoes. Unable to walk away from the boots, and Gendry's insistence he had to have better trainers. He didn't argue. The soles of his were nearly worn through. And the boots; he needed them to ride.

What Dany might think of his choices didn't cross his mind once. More like a dozen times or two. Each time frustrating him further. 

She was untouchable, and he needed to get a fucking grip.

He had managed not to ask them anything else about her. Probably only because they’d offered it freely as they chatted non-stop while he ran through his  _ gift _ . Filling him in on who was who and how things worked in his new world. 

_ The Dragon Pit  _ was Aerys’ of course. The first business he’d ever owned. Now most everything in King’s Landing was his in some way or another. If he didn't own it outright, he knew who did and they were in his pocket, willingly or not. Just like Jon. They didn't call him the “King” for nothing. 

Dany was his niece by marriage. The daughter of his wife's late brother. She’d been with them since her very early teens, some accident leaving her and her older brother Vis orphans. 

The two of them had been running the Pit for him for five years or so. Dany handled everything up front while Vis took care of the books. He was a right git according to Grey. But they doubted he’d see him much. Aerys kept him busy elsewhere most times. 

Jon didn't care. He’d do his job, or jobs. Whatever it took to get his brother and sisters back.

Davos was on the phone when they walked in. They went to the locker room and changed into their shorts and tanks. He added a knit cap over his unruly hair to keep it out of his eyes before heading straight to a bag. His day had been one of his better ones all things considered. But the want to hit something was a constant companion. And he needed to warm up anyway.

He didn't mind his form or plan his punches. It was all about the release. Chasing the reckoning he’d never reach. Hit after hit, jab after jab, he let it burn through him like a fever and the world around him fell away. Faces danced before his eyes, each one banished with a vicious punch. 

_ Ramsay. Thorne. Catelyn. Tanner. Slynt.  _

Again and again, the blows jarring his bones, burning his muscles, satisfying his rage. 

The bag suddenly disappeared and he was left aiming at air, nearly falling to the floor, the force of his swing carrying him forward. He caught himself and searched through glaring eyes for the shit who was playing games. He expected Gendry, ready to beat his arse, but found Davos instead. At the wall, tying the bag’s rope off at the anchor. 

The old man was an inch away a blink later. “You're angry. No doubt you've got a right to be, but that won't serve you here.” He pressed a finger into Jon’s chest and tapped his sternum. “That might give ya some passion,” his finger went to his temple and tapped again, “but I need ya up here as well.”

Jon glared at him from under his brow, breath blowing 

“Ya gotta fight smart. You're not in a cage anymore.”

“The fuck I’m not,” he hissed through his teeth. “I stepped from one into another. It's just a different kind.”

Davos deflated at that and heaved a quiet sigh as he nodded. “Aye, maybe it is, but my words still stand. You gotta fight smart. It's not about life or death here like I’m sure it was before, it's about winning, or  _ losing _ if that's what they want ya to do. It's a business. A game. And you gotta know how to play.”

“I hate games.”

“And that's why you’ve got me, lad.” He grabbed up Jon’s fists and shook them. “First rule: no bare knuckles.” Reaching into his jacket pocket he pulled out a roll of tape and was soon winding and weaving it around Jon's right hand, through his fingers and over his knuckles. It was tight and restrictive,  _ wrong.  _

“Ya didn't have tape or gloves up there did ya?” Davos asked. He must have noticed his scowling. 

Jon shook his head. “Didn't have a lot of things.” He flexed his hand as soon as Davos tore off the end of the tape and tucked into his palm. It still felt off, but he could probably ignore it. Gloves would be a different story. “When it's time for a fight, will I have to wear gloves?”

“Depends. The ahhh,  _ bosses _ decide before each fight. Aerys will take my suggestions into consideration and I’ll take yours.” He began wrapping his other hand. 

“How long before the first one you think?”

“Don't know. Could be next week, could be three months.”

“Three months?” he asked, outraged. 

It would take forever to get them back if it was that long between fights. He didn't know how long he'd expected, but it wasn't that much. 

Davos finished with his second hand but pulled out a set of fingerless gloves from his other pocket and proceeded to get those on him too. Thick pads sat over his knuckles, his wrists wrapped tight with Velcro. Jon bit back a groan.

“How many of us have you trained?”

“Two.”

“What happened to them? How long did they last?”

The old man's expression turned grave and Jon’s heart stuttered. It was just logic to know there were only so many fights in a man. Some, like him, seemed to not have a stopping place, others reached it quickly. He’d seen it happen at the Wall. Had given several their last runs himself. But then there were those who weren't given a choice. They’d tried to take his away. They’d failed.

“Let's just worry about you, alright?” Davos murmured and gave a small pitiful grin. “In the ring with ya.”

That wasn't ominous at all. He needed more dread rolling in his guts. He didn't quite have enough. 

Gendry was already in the ring and ready to go. He could barely make out his eyes under the ridiculous looking puffy red helmet thing on his head. He held another one in his hand. “Afraid I’ll mess up your pretty face?” Jon snarked as he climbed through the ropes. 

Grey gave a soft chuckle where he stood below them.

“Yeah, actually I am,” Gendry admitted and Grey really laughed then. Jon cracked a grin until Gendry passed over the other helmet. 

He snatched it from him and turned a disgruntled look toward Davos where he stood at the top of the stairs. “How am I supposed to fight in this? I won't be able to see shit.”

Davos shook his head at him. “We're sparrin’, not fightin’. Wear the facemask. If you beat the piss out of each other durin’ trainin’, you won't be able to fight when you need to.”

He rolled his eyes but threw his cap off and pushed his hair back before shoving the monstrosity on his head and buckling the strap under his chin. 

He hated it. With a fucking passion. 

“Alright, lads. Square up and play nice.”

Gendry drew in on himself and blew out a few breaths. He sounded like a snorting bull. Looked like one too. 

His bright blue eyes glowed from within the darkness of his mask. His muscles bunched and slid beneath his olive skin as he danced on his feet. All his mucking about from the morning seemed no more than a mirage now.

Jon thought he might like this version better. He knew what to do with him.

He dropped into his favored stance. Hands formed into tight fists, thumbs just touching his first knuckle of his forefingers. Held low on his chest, body slightly forward. Feet planted on the ground, not quite shoulder width apart, knees bent and loose. He’d won them all this way, save for the first few. He never struck first, but lingered. Letting them strike again and again before he reacted. Waiting. Watching. A wolf ready to pounce. 

“How have you never lost before!?” Davos barked. “This won’t do. This won’t do at all.”

He straightened and spun on him, brow furrowed, his hackles bristled up. “What’re you going on about?” he snapped. He wasn’t professionally trained but he’d been brawling since… Well, for as long as he could remember. “You haven't even let me do anything. I know what I’m doing. I’ve only broke four fingers fighting like this!" 

“Back into stance!” the old man hollered as he crawled through the ropes. He scowled at Jon, waiting until he did as he was told. With a huff he gave in. “If you had any trainin’, you might not’ve broken any.” He shook his head and scratched at his beard while Jon grit his teeth. “Lift your arms higher. Get those fists up. Protect yourself. Any lass you’d be interested in is gonna want that pretty face of yours intact.” 

Jon dropped his stance again and Gendry gave a snort. He glared at him, but doubted he could see it.

Davos walked around him, eyes narrowed on his feet before looking up once more. “You keep your feet planted like that? Do you want Gendry to come hit you?”

“Thought that was the point.”

Grey snorted that time and Davos shot him a glare before turning it on Jon. He smacked the side of his helmet. “Up on the balls of your feet. Stay light, ready to move. You wanna avoid his fists, wear him out before he even lays his first punch.”

“I know that,” he ground out. “If you'd just let me…”

“Then let me see it,” he challenged and stepped back, arms crossing over his chest.

Jon’s blood was beginning to boil, but the sooner he made Davos happy, the sooner he could lay Gendry out, which would make  _ him _ happy. He shifted off his heels and onto the balls of his feet, swayed himself side to side.

“There, that a’ boy!” 

He rolled his eyes, but kept up his act just to please the old man, and maybe shut him up. 

“I’m going to put you through your paces, lad. We need you ready for the big boys now.”

_ Big boys. Like the murderers and rapists he’d beat down weren't ‘big boys’. _

Gendry was dancing again and Jon watched him. His eyes, the twitches in his shoulders, the shift of his right hip, the flex of his fingers.

He ducked and easily missed the left hook. Landed a right jab of his own to Gendry's forehead just to piss him off. It worked and he let him have a few. A cross, a jab, an uppercut. 

“You call that protectin’ yourself!?”

_ No. _ He wanted the hits, the jolts of pain they brought, needed them to drop into the haze. Fuel for the fire. 

“Hands up! Block em for gods’ sake!”

They swapped a few more, the power behind each growing. Gendry was good, just as he’d claimed. Smooth and clean. But predictable. Jon slipped in, caught him off guard. Snapped his head back with a one-two. 

“That's it!

“You're lettin’ em get ya, Gen! Watch em!”

“Don't stop, Snow!”

Jon had backed away, let Gendry shake it off for a breath or three, but then he was right back in it. The burn pulsing through his muscles and lungs a drug he’d long since been addicted to. Body, head, chest. Jaw. Nose. An eye. And then the other. But he got as good as he gave and he reveled in it. Each time Gendry's fist met his body driving him deeper into the darkness he thrived on.

Davos was yelling, Gendry panting and blowing, Grey beating at the mat. The rush of blood in his ears drowning them to muffled whispers. The wolf readied to attack.

But the bull struck first. Gendry clinched him. Trapped him, held him tight, blow after blow sinking into his gut.

_ You traitor. No good lyin’ bastard. Turncoat. Die like the rat you are. _

The tether snapped. The fire turned to ice, cold and calculated and cruel. And he lost himself to the kill. 

“Snow, that's enough! Snow! Break it up I said!”

He was flung back and bounced off the ropes, only to drive into Seaworth's outstretched palms. It took another hard shove to break him free of the fury he’d fallen into. He sucked in a gulp of air and took in the damage he’d done. Gendry was down, mouth and nose bloodied. Grey hovered over him, a hand out to help him up as they both stared at him with alarm in their eyes. 

_ Fucking hells, not again. _

He’d lived with guilt like a noose around his neck for years. And he’d just succeeded in cinching it tighter.

Davos pinned him in the corner, surprising him at the strength in his hold, his arm pressed hard across his throat. “What’d I tell ya?” he hissed, a finger shaking in his face. “That rage is blindin’ you to all else, boy. It ain't him that hurt ya.”

All his fight was gone, leaked out of him, buried beneath the shame again. “I know,” he breathed, “I’m sorry. I didn't mean—” He looked back at Gendry, now thankfully on his feet. “I'm sorry. It won't happen again.”

“S’alright,” he said and pulled his facemask off. He actually gave Jon a grin. “Kinda expected it, mighta even egged it on.”

Whether it was the truth or he was just saying it to ease Jon’s guilt, he appreciated it.

Davos however was still steaming. He let him go but his finger never left his face. “You best learn to control it, and quick,” he warned, “or else it’ll be the end of ya.”

They all walked away and left him there. Alone. He slid to the mat, ripped off his facemask and threw it across the ring with a vicious curse. 

_ Damn you, Jon Snow. Damn you to all seven hells. _


	3. I Was Drawn by the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon spends his first night working at the Dragon Pit and Davos and Gendry learn more of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finally back again and still stressed, lol. Real life is putting me in a crunch. I intended this chapter to be twice as long, but I was rushing to finish by today and it was suffering for it so here I am with just half of it. One silver lining though is that the next two chapters are almost finished so hopefully this sets me up to post weekly for at least a while. 
> 
> Sending huge thanks to all of you for the amazing response to this stressful baby of mine. It's just blown me away and I couldn't be more grateful. Especially to all my tumblrinas! Love you ladies!! And of course my bestie for the quick once over. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_ I was born in a lighthouse _

_ Where my mother lay _

_ And she wont wake for no shouting _

_ I was raised by the water _

_ By the crippling waves _

_ And the gulls gave me my singing voice _

_ When the devil came to visit me _

_ He said son Iam your enemy _

_ Fear me _

_ But it came to my surprise _

_ I was drawn by the fire _

_ I set off west in the springtime _

_ Before the flowers had bloomed _

_ And the frost and ice followed me _

_ I met a lot of fine women _

_ With the small of their backs _

_ Shining like the crescent moon _

_ When the finest came to visit me _

_ She said son I am your enemy _

_ Fear me _

_ But it came as no surprise _

_ I was drawn by the fire _

**_Fire - Noah Gundersen_ **

“I appreciate it,” he mumbled again as he took another box from Gendry. 

“Will you shut it already? I told ya, it's fine.”

“I think I liked him better all ragey,” Grey deadpanned from over the roof of the Volvo.

Gendry turned his bright blue eyes on him, they glinted like ice, full of fake annoyance. “Me too.” 

Jon took his box up the stairs. They were just fucking with him, their attempt to assuage his guilt. Gendry had all but said he'd clinched him on purpose, intended to push him to the snapping point. Jon had been pissed for all of two seconds. The anger had already bled out of him for the time being and only a fool went into a fight without knowing their opponent’s weak spots. Besides his being plastered all over his chest, he’d told Gendry enough for him to know what his trigger would be. 

He had no right to hold it against him. Especially not after he’d left his face black and blue, his lip split and swollen. His nose was probably gonna be tender for a week or more too.

It took two trips for them to get everything up to the loft. He had them drop it all on the sofa. It was already nearly three, he’d have to sort it all later. Dany would be back soon. 

He rubbed his sweaty palms down his thighs, swallowed to help his suddenly dry throat. “You wanna stay? Have a drink... on me?” He owed them for helping him. Hauling him and the pieces of his new life around all day. At the very least. And maybe if they stayed he wouldn't be so damn flighty. Or maybe they’d just make it worse. 

The pair considered it for a quiet moment, sharing a look between them while he attempted to not care one way or another, shifting through his new clothes to have something to do. One of them cleared his throat and he looked up. 

“Missandei’s got the night off,” Grey said quietly. “I’ll pass. Maybe tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Gendry gave him a weak grin. “I might come back once I get him home. Watch you choke up over Dany all night,” he teased with a wink. Jon rolled his eyes and scrubbed his scalp through his beanie. “If I don't make it back, see ya in the morning.”

“Yeah, alright,” he mumbled. It was probably for the best. “You think he’s gonna let me back in?” Davos had disappeared into his office after his blow up, the door shut and blinds closed. 

They both huffed and rolled their eyes as they nodded in unison.

“If you knew how many times we've fucked up…” Gendry confessed with a thumb hooked toward Grey. “Just show up, and listen to em. He’s never steered us wrong.” He looked over at Grey, eyebrows raised. “Has he?

Grey shook his head and they both pinned him with impatient stares. 

He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

  
  


—

  
  


He heard her before he saw her. The tinny rattle of her little car pulling up outside beneath his windows. He was watching her a second later unable to stop himself. She’d changed clothes. A red top, skin tight. Jeans, a faded grey with quite a few tears in them. Her moonlight hair hanging in a loose braid. 

_ She's your fucking boss. Stop fucking gawking. _

She walked around her car and pulled out several boxes from the front seat and tried to reach for more as she precariously balanced the others. 

He managed not to run down the stairs, but was swinging the door open the moment she walked up. She looked a bit startled but her smile made an appearance soon after. Much the same as it had been before. Guarded, but polite.

His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips. A smile tugged at them without his permission. “Hey.”

“Hi, Jon.”

“Hey.” He dropped his head and closed his eyes before reaching for the boxes. “Let me get those.” 

She was grinning and it only made his face heat even more. “Thanks, I’ve got them, but if you don't mind, there's more in the car you could get for me.”

“Sure, no problem.”

He stepped back and she walked past him and inside. The short little boots she wore gave her arse a certain sway and left a sharp and steady echo behind as they took her deeper into the bar. 

_ You're gawking again, you wanker. _

He went to her car and opened the passenger door. A pleasant wave of lemons mixed with something flowery and sweet immediately enveloped him. _And fresh baked_ _bread?_ He had to fight the urge to just crawl in and close himself up in it. 

_ Fuck, if he had to smell her smelling like that all night, every night...  _

The boxes were in the back seat. He folded the front one over and grabbed them. Ignored the black leather jacket on the seat and the  _ property of no one _ pin stuck on its pocket. The Doc Martens in the floorboard, too. Even the snapshot of a doberman pinscher stuck in the dash. 

He shut her car door with his hip, the bar door with a pull of his foot. Whatever freshly baked goods were inside the boxes had his mouth watering, but he ignored them as best he could too and went in search of her, his heart beating double time. Knowing he’d be alone with her for the next hour at least was terrifying. 

She wasn't in the bar. Or the office. He checked the storeroom next and still didn't see her.  _ Where the fuck?  _

“Dany?”

“In here,” he heard, somewhat distant and soft. 

“Where’s here?” he called back.

“Left back corner of the storeroom.”

He wound his way through the shelves and aisles, cases and kegs, further than he had the night before, and sure enough, there she was… In a kitchen. 

He gave a grunt of surprise and she glanced up at him with a small grin. She waved a hand toward the counter. “You can put those over there, thanks.”

She was already emptying the boxes she had brought in. Pretzels. Big, fluffy soft ones. Golden brown and sprinkled with salt. His stomach felt hollow just looking at them. She was putting them in some kind of warmer with rotating hooks. 

A little laugh brought him out of his stupor and he met her bright-eyed gaze. She took the boxes from him, her soft fingers brushing against his. “You can have one if you want. Maybe it'll keep you from drooling on the rest?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, the tingle she’d left behind in them making him feel things he shouldn't. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

She shook her head at him, amused and went back to her pretzels. 

The kitchen was small. U shaped. He turned and wandered through it to give her space. Or maybe himself. There was a sink, a double door refrigerator, a microwave and not much else other than counters and cabinets. He made it back to the door too quick. 

“I uh… I found the crisps and peanuts last night. Took a some of each since I didn't get a chance to eat yesterday. How much do I owe you?”

“You don't. Employees can help themselves.” She turned to him with a pretzel held out in her hand. “I was serious about you having one. Unless we bring in leftovers or take out, our dinners are always pretzels. No closing up shop for a dinner break.”

“Makes sense. Thanks.” He took it from her, careful not to let their fingers brush and did his best not to act like a man who hadn't had decent food in years. That first bite was fucking heaven though. He somehow kept himself from moaning, but it was a near thing.

“There's cheese too if you want it,” she said, nodding toward the boxes he’d brought in. “Mustard too. The fridge is full of water and sodas if you don't want beer.” 

_ Fucking hells. Maybe he had died and gone to heaven.  _

He knew he'd missed simple things, but not quite how much until he was staring at dozens of colorful, frosted cans. A bark of laughter almost slipped out when he spotted a few root beers on the bottom shelf. He bit it back just in time. Grabbed one, popped it open and drank half before he let himself take another breath. 

The creamy bite of cheese covered pretzel he followed it up with was practically orgasmic.

“I like the bike,” she said, startling him out of his food euphoria.

His mouth was so crammed full he all but choked. He swallowed it as quick as he could and washed it down with the rest of his root beer. “Thanks,” he stammered out. “Me too.” He threw the empty can and cheese cup into the trash and went back to the door, leaning against the jam in what he hoped was a nonchalant pose. 

If she noticed his ridiculous behavior she thankfully chose not to comment on it. She switched on the warmer and headed straight for him. He stepped outside the door to let her through but she stopped just as she came out. Her boots were leather. Burgundy. Silver buckles. He didn't let his eyes trail up any further. 

“So did Vis give you a run down?” she asked quietly.

_ Vis…? Her brother. Not the goons. Not the King. Which had to mean… She didn't know. _

_ Fuck. Was he supposed to tell her? Or had her uncle kept her in the dark on purpose? _

He looked up, his jaw gone slack. He had no idea what to say and the expectant look in her velvet eyes wasn't helping. Long lush lashes fluttering as she blinked at him. Waiting. “No,” he landed on. It was the truth, just not all of it.

She rolled her eyes and gave a huff. “Of course, he didn't.” She headed toward the bar at a brisk walk. He got his feet to move and followed her, eyes locked on her silver hair. He couldn't help but wonder if it was as soft as it looked. If it would smell like lemons or flowers or both. “Mostly I need you for bouncing.” She slowed to a near stop and looked him up and down over her shoulder. “You ever bounce?”

“No,” he answered again, “but I can handle it. My uh…” _Shit._ If she didn't know he wasn't going to tell her. Not until he found out why she didn't. “My last job was basically the same, just not official.”

Her look said she didn't believe him, but she walked on without any more probing questions, thank gods. 

_ Be useful, Jon. Do your job.  _

“Are you having problems? Or did your last guy quit?”

“No last guy,” she said as she slipped behind the bar. He walked to the other side of it. Kept his distance by staying near the end while she went to the other. “You're the first. As for the problems... Yes and no.” 

He let her take her time to explain. The less he had to say the better. 

She bent over and pulled something open beneath the bar. Glasses rattled as she slid a rack out.  _ Dishwasher.  _ “It's never been anything me or Missy couldn't handle until recently,” she said as she began stacking glasses on the counter. “Our regulars are mostly old guys who’ve all known each other for ages. But we put the pool tables in not long ago and now the younger crowd is coming around.” She pulled a face of disgust. “They're mouthy fuckers.”

He stopped himself from reacting, a hundred voices whispering their bullshit in his ears. They had been bad enough, he could only imagine what she'd heard.

“I don't give two fucks what they say to me,” she went on and he believed her, mostly. 

They weren't there, but everything about her had changed the moment she mentioned them. Spine stiffening, shoulders back, jaw clenched and eyes hard. Even her movements had become more harsh. The glasses she was stacking handled the abuse fairly well, only ringing and clanking their upset instead of breaking into pieces. He could easily imagine her chunking one across the room at someone's head and relishing in its shatter and its target's shock and fear.

_ Property of no one. _

“I’ve heard it all before and can shut them down easy enough, but my regulars…” she sighed with a shake of her head. “Missy and I are like their daughters, they get protective, then shit hits the fan.”

“It come to blows yet?”

“Last week,” she answered, then pinned him with her purple eyes. They were hard as gemstones. “That has to stop.” He nodded so she knew he understood. “I really don't want anyone to get hurt, besides the fact it causes problems for us. The young guys will heal. But my regulars… They're old enough they're surviving on pensions and skimpy retirement at best. They can't afford to get hurt. Physically or financially.”

He had no idea what kind of person he’d expected her to be. He’d tried his best not to even think of her at all. That was a dangerous path he had no business going down. He hadn't wanted to assume she was the same ilk as her uncle though. Gendry and Grey gushing over her half the day had pretty much squashed that anyway. But an outer shell as hard as nails with a good heart hidden beneath… 

He was fucked. So fucked. 

“That gonna be a problem for you?” she asked with a bite. 

His head jerked up to find her skewering him with an unflinching look. He’d been rubbing at his brow without realizing and she’d definitely taken it as a sign of exasperation. It was, just not like she thought. He shook his head. “No, not at all,” he assured her. “I’ll stop it before it starts. You have my word.”

_ For whatever fucking good it's worth. _

That seemed to satisfy her and she went back to unloading her glasses, her beautiful face placid again. “The rest is helping me move kegs on occasion or stock the store room. Maybe help close on the weekends. We're four to midnight during the week. Two a.m. on Friday and Saturday. Closed Sunday and Monday.” 

“I’ll be here.” 

“The pay is twenty five crowns an hour.” His eyebrows shot up and she noticed. One hand went to a cocked hip. “Is that good shock or bad shock I'm seeing?” 

“Uh, good. It's good,” he rushed out. “Wasn't expecting it, sorry.”

Her dark brows twisted up. “Sorry for what? Hopefully things never get dangerous, but they might,” she pointed out. “You should be compensated.” 

Maybe it was the years of being allowed only the small hope to just keep breathing. Of fighting for every scrap of anything. But somehow being  _ compensated  _ felt wrong. Like a ruse that would no doubt be snatched away by greedy hands with loathsome laughter echoing in the dark.

He’d lived it enough, knew that's how it went and took it. But he knew if he didn't watch himself when the day came and it was her laughter he heard it would hit harder than any that had come before. 

It was a job. A means to an end. What he had to do to get his family back. That was all. Nothing more. And it never could be.

“It's plenty. More than plenty.”

“Well if it's too much…” She was teasing him, the sparkle in her eye said so, but it was best not to play into it. 

“Whatever you think is fair. I’ll be grateful.”

He couldn't discern the look she was giving him so he dropped his gaze and scratched at the back of his neck instead. “What can I do to help you set up for tonight?”

“You could put all the chairs down for me,” she answered, her tone having lost most of its airyness. 

“Sure.”

  
  


—

  
  


The night passed slowly, quietly too. They only had a dozen customers come in, every one of them past their sixtieth nameday. 

Jon stayed in one corner or another the entire night, keeping his view of the room unobstructed. He only moved when his body insisted on it or if Dany waved him over to introduce him to one of her regulars. They had all inevitably spotted him lurking in the shadows. There’d be a long stare off with him before they turned and had a whispered conversation with Dany over the bar. 

She handled each one with patience, her smile always soft and warm as she reassured them before meeting his gaze and giving him a tilt of her head. He fell back on all the lessons his father had taught him about respecting his elders and being polite. Shook hands, smiled, though he kept that to a minimum. He was there to keep everyone in line, he couldn't come across as too much of a nice guy. None of them would trust him to do his job and would take it into their own hands again, which, like the lady said, couldn't happen.

Watching her from afar the entire night proved to be an exercise in torment. He tried his damnedest to watch the customers instead, but his eyes refused to stop finding their way to her. She kept laughing with one of them or another and it was impossible not to bask in her just like all her customers did. It was like the damn sun was in the room with them, only softer, warm and sweet. He knew before even an hour had passed that every old man in the place was in love with her. And he couldn't blame them.

She was hands down the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Perfect body, beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes. Her fucking hair was mesmerizing. Hell, all of her was. She scared the absolute fuck out of him. 

He couldn't help but wonder what the King’s angle was. Why he’d chosen to put him there, with her. And not fucking tell her who he was. Sure, it made sense to have a fighter as a bouncer, but why not tell her? Was it her he was fucking with, or him? Or both? He could ask Davos maybe. Gendry. Something in his gut told him they were a better choice than straight up asking her. His gut was rarely wrong. 

By a quarter till midnight the last customer was shuffling out the door and Dany locked it behind him, flipping off the outside light. 

Jon was already putting the chairs onto the tables when she came out of the little vestibule. 

She was still smiling from telling her regular good night. Turned on him, it was almost too much to take. It threatened to steal his breath better than a punch to the gut. “You don't have to do that on a night like tonight,” she said with a wave of her hand. “We save it for the weekends.”

He put the chairs back down. 

She gave a little laugh. “Exciting first night, huh? Bet you're wondering why we bothered hiring you.”

He shrugged. “I'm sure the weekends will be different.”

“Smart man,” she said with a wink. “It's like night and day. You’ll see.” She made it back behind the bar and started wiping it down. 

He wandered over, stuffing his hands in his pockets. His stomach was twisting itself into knots now that they were alone again. He felt as antsy as a feral dog. “Anything else you need me to do?” he asked and couldn't decide if he wanted her to say yes so he didn't have to leave, or no so he could finally escape to his loft and maybe breathe normal for the first time in hours. 

“No,” she said with a shake of her head and of course disappointment crashed over him. “I’ve already got the glasses loaded and just need to box the leftover pretzels up.” She cocked her head at him and raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want em.”

He wanted a lot of things. 

One in particular. 

_ Give it up, Snow.  _

“Sure, I can take a few,” he said, proud his voice had stayed level. “You want me to stick around down here till you lock up?”

Again she shook her head, making a face of chipper certainty. “I’ve done this by myself for years. No babysitter needed. You're free, Jon Snow.”

Her words hit him as good as any knife, cut him straight down the middle. Split him in two. One side a fucked up mess, the other still clinging to the lie of freedom. He wanted to run from both. 

He headed for his loft instead. “Night.”

“Night.”

  
  


—

  
  


The next morning he was at the gym by six. The Volvo was there, parked beside an old black Land Rover. He left his bike a few spots over, pulling the key and taking it and his helmet with him. A cavernous silence met him when he opened the door. He let it quietly shut behind him. 

The gym was empty. The locker room too. The office wasn't. Seaworth sat behind his desk engrossed in the morning paper. A steaming cup of black coffee at his right hand. When he failed to notice Jon standing in the doorway, he knocked on it lightly to get his attention. 

Davos picked his head up and took a long lingering look at him over the rim of his glasses. “Mornin’.”

“Mornin’.” A beat or two passed as Jon tried to force his mouth to work again. To ask the question that would start a conversation he didn't want to have. But he had to. “Can I have a word?” he finally managed.

Davos folded his paper up and waved him in. “Just shut the door behind ya.”

He swallowed. Licked at his lips and shifted back a half step. “Do you mind if we talk outside?” He scratched at his beard. “Not so good with small spaces anymore.”

Another look, though thankfully with less judgement in his old blue eyes. “Sure. Go on, I’ll be there in a minute.”

He escaped out the back door. Drew in a few deep breaths as he paced around. Pulled his pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lit one. He was finally able to lean against the building after the first drag and just be still. That's how Davos found him. Foot against the wall, head back as he took the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a cloud of smoke. 

The old man wasn't impressed. Took on that authoritarian stance. Legs spread, arms crossed over his chest, one eyebrow raised as he gave him a cold stare. Jon had seen it all before, so many times. Thorne and his goon squad of guards doing all they could to show their power over them. The display had long since stopped having an effect on him. He still swapped the cigarette to his left hand and let it hang by his side though, hidden as much as a smoking thing could be. 

Davos wasn't Thorne.

“How many of those you had today?”

“First one.”

“Well, go on and enjoy it then.” Both his eyebrows went up over his glasses. “That’s your last one today.”

He was proud of himself for not rolling his eyes. “Gendry didn't want in on this?”

“Didn’t know you wanted him to be.”

“I don’t want to tell it twice.”

Without a word Davos went back inside. He heard his muffled yell for Gendry and a minute later they were walking out the door. 

Gendry’s eyes searched around until they landed on him. He was perfectly placid at first, then Jon took another drag of his cigarette. Gendry’s head whipped around to Davos, his face contorted in outrage as he threw a hand toward Jon. “ _ He _ can smoke, but I can't? How's that fair?”

Jon nearly snorted. “I didn't ask if I could,” he muttered instead. 

After Gendry threw him a scathing glare he watched the pair of them argue with one another, even managing a grin. They were like too old men grumbling back and forth, no real animosity behind any of it. They meant something to each other. A lot of something. It reminded him far too much of his father and Robb. 

His grin gone, he sucked on his smoke again. Dropped it down by his thigh and flicked the butt with the tip of his thumb. Watched the ashes float to the ground. They disappeared into the gravel beneath his feet. 

“Either of you serve any time?” he asked, loud enough to break over their quarreling. 

They both fell silent and looked over at him a bit dazed. Davos scrubbed a hand over his face, taking all the surprise with it and leaving the stern trainer behind. “Spent a few months in the City Watch tank back in my early days,” he admitted. 

Gendry had shoved his hands into the hoodie he wore, his shoulders up around his ears. He was very interested in the building’s brickwork. “A week,” he mumbled. 

Jon stuck the smoke back in his mouth and took the information in with a slow nod. “I got sent to the Wall two months after my sixteenth nameday.” He didn't bother looking for a reaction from them, just watched the fat doves walk along the eaves of the building across the alley. Their fucking heads bobbing with every little fucking step. Dumbass birds. He flicked more ash off his cigarette. “Made it a week before they jumped me the first time.”

Gravel shifted and crunched. Two of the five doves flew away, their flaps and coos fading quickly. 

“They only threatened me. Roughed me up with a couple of punches to the gut. But they found me again about two weeks later. And that time was worse. The third time they meant to have what they wanted…” He took another long pull until there was nothing left but ash, blew the smoke out as he dropped the butt to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his boot. The hands were pulling at his clothes, fisted in his hair, the gritty concrete floor sharp beneath his cheek. He looked up and squinted at the morning sun barely visible behind the thick blanket of fog hanging low in the air. “They didn't get it.”

Gendry stepped over and offered him his pack of smokes. Jon shook his head at him and pulled his own from his pocket. Shook it at him with a grin. Davos didn't say a word as he lit another. 

“I put two of them in the infirmary that day. Another one ten days later. Took em six months, but they finally quit trying. Found a new way for me to entertain em. Beat the shit out of people, or die. Called me the White Wolf. It was a joke and an insult to most of them. Since I thought I was too  _ pure _ to sleep with the dogs.”

“That what the tat is on your chest?” Gendry asked after a long stretch of silence. 

He nodded and pulled a fresh dose of nicotine into his lungs. Held it until it hurt. Let the smoke go slow. Watched it curl and fade. “My badge of  _ honor.” _

Davos let out a sigh and scrubbed at the back of his head. “I take it the rest is because you decided you'd had enough and they didn't like that?”

He glanced at him and pushed himself off the wall, the blades’ slick slide slithering over his skin. He never could keep still when he felt it. “Close enough.”

“How long ago, if ya don't mind me askin’?”

“Nine months. Spent nearly three in the infirmary.” 

Another long spell of quiet drug out. He let them absorb his tale while he finished off his second smoke. Once he’d crushed it under his boot he stuffed his hands in his pockets and faced Davos. “I don't know if I can do this without going back there every time, without losing control, but I have to.” He swallowed hard and squinted up at the sun again. Waited until the burning passed and his breath came easier before going on. “I have to. Do you understand? I made a promise and I have to keep it. I already broke it once and I can't do it again.”

Davos had one arm propped on the other, a finger rubbing at his lips as he stared at him. He could see Gendry's eyes bouncing back and forth between them from the corner of his own. He’d faced things he never wanted to face again, but waiting for Davos to make up his mind was one of the most unpleasant. 

Finally the old man's arms dropped and he walked to the door and grabbed the handle, opening it. Jon’s heart fell to his feet, cold and bleak. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. 

“Well, let's go then,” Davos said, waving a hand inside, impatiently. “We got work to do. It won't get done out here.”

Gendry's arm went around Jon's shoulders as the air came rushing back into his lungs. He got him moving again. Grinned at him as he drug him inside. Smacked his chest as the door slammed shut behind them. “I'm gonna have so much fun kickin’ your arse.”

He cut him a glare but smiled despite himself. “We’ll see about that.”

  
  
  



	4. I Wish Someone Out There Will Find Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon does his best to settle into his new life but learns things might not be a straight forward as he'd hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I'm a day early but I couldn't hang onto it any longer. This chapter is one I've wanted to write for years and I'm too excited not to put it out into the world as soon as possible lol. I want to thank you all again for the love you guys are already showing this fic, it means the world to me! Especially that you're all loving my beautiful broken boy. 
> 
> I have to give my wonderful Frost a huge shout out for this one. She betaed for me this go around and that's always a treat. I learn so much each time she does and gain some confidence along the way, which I am constantly in short supply of lol. I love you Frost and sending you all the hugs today! <3
> 
> Be aware there is a good bit of violence in this one. Physical assault, received and given. Men and women involved. If it might bother you please feel free to skip. I'll be glad to give you a summary if you do. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and take care. <3

  


_I walk a lonely road_

_The only one that I have ever known_

_Don't know where it goes_

_But it's home to me and I walk alone_

_I walk this empty street_

_On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams_

_Where the city sleeps_

_And I'm the only one and I walk alone_

_I walk alone_

_I walk alone_

_I walk alone_

_I walk a_

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me_

_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating_

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me_

_'Til then I walk alone_

_Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah_

_Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah_

_I'm walking down the line_

_That divides me somewhere in my mind_

_On the border line_

_Of the edge and where I walk alone_

_Read between the lines_

_Of what's fucked up and everything's alright_

_Check my vital signs_

_To know I'm still alive and I walk alone_

_I walk alone_

_I walk alone_

_I walk alone_

_I walk a_

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me_

_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating_

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me_

_'Til then I walk alone_

_Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah_

_Ah-ah, ah-ah_

_I walk alone_

_I walk a_

_I walk this empty street_

_On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams_

_Where the city sleeps_

_And I'm the only one and I walk a_

_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me_

_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating_

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me_

_'Til then I walk alone_

**_Boulevard of Broken Dreams - Green Day_ **

  
  
  
  


He landed punch after punch into the bag Gendry was holding for him. His blood was pumping, sweat streaming, breaths quick and even. The percussive pattern of his hits echoing in his ears. All things that usually pulled him out of his head. Let his mind rest. His demons sleep.

But not today. Today they chattered incessantly. Brought their darkness with them. Wound him tighter and tighter. Until he caved. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure,” Gendry stuttered out from his jab and hook.

“That first day. Did you tell Dany I was fightin’?”

“No, why?”

“What did you say?”

A shit eating grin slowly spread across Gendry's face. Jon doubled his effort on the bag until the jackarse was stumbling back with a grunt. He was back a moment later, his grip on the bag tighter. His frown faked. “Easy on the merchandise,” he protested in a sing-song plea.

“When you quit being a dick I might,” he ground out, landing a hard one-two.

Gendry's head jerked back as he laughed. “She asked what I was doing there and I told her I was delivering her new bouncer.”

He kept up with his punches. Davos was watching them from the other side of the gym. He’d only let them fuck off for so long. “Did she say anything about me fightin’? Or mention the King?”

“No,” Gendry answered then all the humor left him, a furrow forming between his brows. “What's going on?”

Jon stopped, his concentration shot. He tore his beanie off and used it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. It’d been three days and she hadn't said a word about it and it was eating at him. Like a rat gnawing at a rope. The strands slowly fraying, getting thinner and thinner. Weaker. 

He didn't fucking like it. While there were some things he’d be fine with her never knowing, that wasn't one of them. It just felt wrong. 

“I don't think she knows,” he told him.

Gendry pulled a face. “So?”

“You don't think that's fucked up?” he snarled back with a scowl of his own. “That her uncle didn't tell her his new prize fighter is her bouncer?”

“With _that_ family?” Gendry shook his head. “No, not really.”

Jon didn't like the sound of that. “What's that mean?”

Gendry skirted the bag and came in close. “Look, I don't know a lot. Only what Grey has gleaned from Missy. Which ain't much,” he told him quietly. His brow went up, his eyes wide. “But those two don’t get along.”

“Dany and her uncle?”

“Yeah. I think she actually hates the ground he walks on to be honest.” He shrugged. “Why, I don't know.”

He shoved his beanie back on and waited for Gendry to grab the bag again and went back to punching. 

Maybe Gendry was right. Maybe that's all it was. Nothing nefarious, just bad blood. Gods knew him and Catelyn had stayed the hell away from each other. But just the thought of Aerys treating her the way Cat had treated him made his hits land harder. Every snide remark and hateful glare running through his head. 

No one deserved that.

She had to have _some_ idea though. The first person she'd seen him with was Gendry, and he basically lived at the gym. Maybe she thought he just liked to keep in shape, any bouncer would. Or it was possible she'd already figured it out and didn't give a shit. But he knew it would drive him crazy until he knew for certain.

“Do you know if the other fighters lived over the bar?”

“Nope, don't think so. Why?” 

He didn't answer him, not wanting to give voice to his darker suspicions. Because that's all they were; suspicions.

Gendry leaned around the bag. Jon’s fist landed an inch from his nose. It didn't faze him, too drawn in by the intrigue to care, apparently. “You think he put you there on purpose?” he whispered. “To spy on her or something?”

He dropped his stance with a harsh roll of his eyes. It sounded fucking ridiculous when said out loud. “I don't know,” he grumbled. “I just don't like it. I should tell her.”

Davos appeared out of nowhere, scowling at the two of them, his arms crossed over his chest. “You ladies are awful chatty over here. Something more important than trainin’ I don't know about?”

Gendry swung himself around the other side of the bag. “Jon says Dany doesn't know he’s fightin’, thinks the King wants him to spy on her. He wants to tell her.”

Jon wanted to fucking deck him then and there, but he forced himself to refrain as Davos’ gaze laid heavy on him. He met it with a cautious one of his own.

“Best you stay out of _family business,_ lad _._ ”

His warning given, he walked away. The moment he was out of earshot Jon shoved the bag into Gendry. He nearly fell on his arse, but of course that did nothing to wipe the grin from his face. 

“Stop worryin’, mate,” he chuckled. “I promise you Dany can take care of herself. And even if the King’s tryin’ to be a dick to her, you ain't gonna help him, right?”

“No,” he was quick to answer.

The King might have him by the balls, but he wouldn't be hurting anyone unless they walked into his fists with their eyes wide open. 

“Then quit thinking so damn hard and punch this fucking bag so we can get in the ring and kick each other's arses.”

He wasn't the least bit satisfied, but there was nothing he could do about it right then. So he went back to what he could. Focused on his goal. 

Training. Fighting. Freedom. Sansa. Arya. Rickon. 

They were all that mattered. Nothing else.

  
  


—

  
  


He’d wrestled the mattress out of the little loft the second night. 

No more small spaces. 

He fell asleep to the sky glowing like a warm fire from the streetlights. Woke up to the cool blues of dawn. He liked the windows. Windows were good. 

Before the sun even began to climb, he woke with the jolting buzz of the morning bell ringing in his head. A week later, the Wall still lingered. Just one more thing to haunt him.

That Saturday morning was no different. He rolled off his bed and pushed himself up to his feet. Gave his face a good scrub before climbing the spiral stairs to the bathroom. 

By the end of the week he’d fallen into a monotonous routine. Not that he minded so much. He was used to it, really. Welcomed it. A planned day kept his frayed nerves calm. Took out the unknowns that left him on edge and feeling as if he might fly apart at the seams. 

Training came first. Six days a week. Sundays were his only day to rest. Davos had set him a schedule to follow and he was determined to keep it. He ran every other day. A slow warm up, then sprints, or _intervals_ as Davos called them. At top speed for three minutes with one minute breaks between. It was fucking hell, and he hated it, but apparently it mimicked the demand his body would be under during a proper fight. Rounds hadn't existed at the Wall. He’d fought until his victim had gone down and stayed down. He wasn't sure he'd get used to the change anytime soon. 

He still puked every run. Made more than a few people shout as he ran past them as if he was being chased by demons. 

Probably needed to find an empty park at some point. Less people and more places to puke.

The walk back was his reward. He’d found Dany's bakery two blocks from the bar and they made a lot more than pretzels. Their cheese danish was the best fucking thing he’d ever put in his mouth. He wondered if she'd ever tried one. So much so he bought an extra the second morning, but decided against giving it to her when the time came. It was stupid. They weren't friends. Just a boss and an employee. 

They barely said more than a dozen words to each other a night. She did her work and he did his. Things had stayed calm and quiet through the week, only ticking up the night before. Even for a busy Friday night, it had gone well. Dany and Missy had handled things with ease and he’d only needed to escort two middle aged guys who’d had a few too many out the door. Neither gave him any trouble, just stumbled out onto the sidewalk and into their respective cabs. Dany had given him a small smile and nod each time. He’d answered with the same.

He doubted tonight would be any different. 

It wasn't a run day, so he worked the bag instead. Same as his intervals. Three minutes to one, again and again and again until he was soaked with sweat and every muscle was trembling. He liked these mornings best. Was always calmer the rest of the day, his demons forced from his mind and beaten to pulp.

Regardless of running till he puked or punching till he was a quivering mess, he showered after, had his breakfast, and fucked around the loft for an hour or so. He’d managed to make it a little more _his_ . The telly and DVD player were set up on some cinder blocks. (He’d yet to watch a thing.) His clothes were piled along one wall (but they were _neat_ piles). The radio he’d put in the kitchen. It was good company while he cooked. He’d lucked up and found a station that played the old tunes he’d listened to growing up. (He didn't recognize any of the new shit.) 

His space settled, he decided on something new that morning. There had only been one thing he missed from the Wall, and that was reading. Thanks to Gendry, the library was easy enough to find.

The guy behind the desk gave him a surprised look when he walked up. Jon scanned the room and knew why. Nothing but old folks, mums and kids to be seen. 

“Just moved here. Wanted to see about getting a card.”

“Sure.” He plucked a sheet of paper from a file and laid it in front of Jon. Slapped a pen down on it. “Fill that out, and I can be working on your card while you look around.” 

To his relief they wanted nothing more than his name, address, phone, and email. He had all but the last, though he had to go searching through his phone for all but his name. Thank gods for Gendry and Grey teaching him how to use the damn thing. 

He passed the form back over once he’d filled it out and headed toward the stacks. It didn't take him long to find some of his favorites in the classic lit section. Dostoevsky. Kafka. Kerouac.

He was looking through their selection of Vonnegut when someone's phone rang close by. He looked around and saw no one, not even through the stacks on the other side. Then something vibrated against his arse and the light bulb kicked on in his head.

He jerked his phone out of his back pocket before he got thrown out and his heart fucking stopped at the name blinking on the screen.

_Aerys._

His thumb was trembling when he hit the green dot. He swallowed hard and lifted it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, Jon.” Friendly. Smooth and slow with a bit of a rasp. “How are you settling in?” His accent was one Jon had never heard before. Almost a lisp. And not Westerosi.

“Good, sir,” he answered far too fast. He closed his eyes and breathed deep, grasping for some calm.

“Excellent,” Aerys purred, “that's what I like to hear.” A beat passed, then another. “I spoke with Davos today. He seems quite pleased with you. Said you were adjusting quickly.”

Jon could've been wrong, but it sounded like the King hadn't believed a word he’d just said. “He’s good at it... Training, sir,” he clarified.

“I think so.” Silence fell, only the soft shuffling of papers coming through the phone. “Would another week suit you? Settle in a bit more? See where you're at, then we'll set a fight?”

He doubted very seriously whether it mattered what suited him or not. “Whatever you decide, sir.”

Aerys laughed. It made the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. “Eager to please. I like that, Jon.”

He had no idea what to say to that so he said nothing at all. Another stretch of silence spread until Jon felt as if he might simply snap in half. 

“And Dany?” he finally asked. “How do you like her and my Dragon Pit?”

His heart was pounding loud enough in his ears he was certain the King could hear it through the phone. “She… I like it just fine, sir,” he forced himself to answer. “It’s a great place and she’s a good boss.”

Jon swore he _heard_ him smile. “Yes, she does a very good job, doesn't she?” he agreed, smoothly. He sniffed, maybe licked his lips. “I’d like you to keep a very close eye on her for me, Jon. Her aunt is quite fond of her.” His tone had changed. Dropped into something darker, more serious, yet somehow fanciful. “She wouldn't take it well if something were to happen to her.”

He answered the only way he knew how. “Of course.”

“Wonderful,” came the cheery reply. “Have a good night, Jon. We’ll speak next week.” 

Aerys hung up before he could respond which was probably just as well. He could do nothing but stare at the phone in his shaking hand, a cold sweat broke out over his brow. Each beat of his heart had become a stab, the sharp pain splintering through his chest again and again. 

He was on his bike before it registered he’d even left the library. The wind in his face forced him to breathe, the mirage of freedom beneath him calmed his racing heart. The roar and rumble of the engine traveled through him, his muscles, bones, and nerves. Filled his head, slowly washed away the panic.

_It’s just nerves. You're being ridiculous. He wouldn't hurt her. She's family._

He repeated the mantra over and over to himself as he weaved his way through the city traffic, dodging cars and people alike. No direction in mind, just riding until he shook off the demons chasing him. A lost cause he knew, but it was nice to pretend. 

Eventually, he made it to the gym. An hour late. After getting a stern scowl from Davos, he changed into his workout gear.

Gendry was dressed out and ready to go, gabbing with one of the other gym rats. Jon waved him into the ring. 

Of course he was grinning when he climbed through the ropes. “I was beginning to think you were skipping out on us.”

Jon danced over and tapped him with a good lick to the chin. “Shut up and fight me.” 

He got a narrowed-eye glare in return as Gendry's fists went up, his stout body weaving in front of him. “That the way it's gonna be today?”

“Aye. That's the way.” 

“Alright then.”

Gendry popped him. Square in the mouth. A taunting smirk lit his face beneath his mask. Jon smiled right back and swung hard.

  
  


—

  
  


Jon never mentioned the phone call and neither did Davos, but he _did_ surprise him—let him out early despite his showing up late. He didn't question him and went straight to the bar and to his loft, grabbed a protein shake from the fridge and drained it as he made for the shower. 

It was another part of the day that was becoming routine for him. And considering his nerves were already sharp and jagged, he needed all the help he could get to survive another night of Dany for hours on end. 

Her smile. Full lips curved and wicked. That laughter bright bells ringing through his ears. 

The hot water beating down his back did nothing but spur him on. The trigger to the baser needs he’d been giving into for days now. One hand braced on the wall, the other palming his hard cock, strokes slow as she danced behind his eyelids.

Curves for fucking days beneath her tight jeans. Those velvet eyes locked on his, dark and daring. Silver silk hanging in waves down her back, over her shoulder. Lemons and flowers filling his head. 

His hand became her hands. Soft and scorching and squeezing.

Twisting.

Tighter.

Faster.

He could see her. Laid out on one of the bar tables. Stripped bare for him. Every inch of her skin pale porcelain perfection, flushed pink. From her throat to her tits. Her thick thighs spread as he feasted between them on her luscious cunt. His hair gripped in her hands while she writhed and whimpered. Nails digging into his scalp. A ragged voice begging him for more. 

The coil constricted. The pressure built.

Her smell. 

Her taste. 

Drinking her down.

The clenching and quivering heat wrapped around his fingers as she came. 

That hard little clit twitching against his tongue.

The scream of his name from her sinful mouth. 

He snapped. Spilled. The black bliss washing over him. Soaked and heaving beneath the spray. 

The shame hit a few minutes later, just as it had all the afternoons before. But seven hells, it was the least harmful outlet he had available. 

  
  


—

  
  


Dany walked in as he was setting the chairs down none too gently. She was late, and his nerves hadn't appreciated it. It was a wonder he hadn't turned any of them into kindling. All his successful attempts to quiet the riot of thoughts that had been plaguing him since her uncle's phone call had vanished into thin air the moment she didn't show. 

“Hey,” she ventured, cautiously. 

He tried his best to school his expression into something besides a scowl. “Hey.”

“You're down here early, aren't you?”

“Nope. You're late.”

She shot him a scathing glare. “I am not.” Her face fell the moment she looked at her watch. “Oh.” One Doc Marten gave a solid thump against the old wood floors. “ _Shit!”_

He actually smirked. She was alive and well and cute when she was irritated. And he was letting his fears get the best of him. He had to chill the fuck out and get it together. 

She was still grumbling as she spun around and went into the office. “Fuckin’ battery.”

He finished up the chairs before following her. “Pretzels in the—” the question died on his lips. He hadn't been paying much attention to her clothes when she’d come in, but now he couldn't do anything but. She was bent over her desk, her army green tank doing little to hide the soft swells of her breasts. Black lace held them, and he never thought he'd ever be jealous of fabric. 

He was.

He rubbed at his brow and willed his body to behave.

“Yeah,” she said, not bothering to look up as she pecked at the keyboard of her old desk top. “Do you mind getting them for me?”

He spun on his heels and made his way to the back door without a word. 

Missy pulled up as he walked out. She was waiting to help him carry boxes when he unfolded himself from Dany's tiny car, a soft smile on her face. 

“Thanks,” he said and went in after the rest. 

“Everything okay?”

He shut the car door and forced a smile for her. Even though he’d not even known her a full day, he knew Gendry had been right about her. She was every bit as beautiful as Dany, just in different ways. Dany was all fire, Missy the rain that would douse the flames. 

Soft and sweet and unfailingly kind. There was no question why Grey loved her. 

“All good,” he said as he opened the door for her. “But the boss is a bit fired up. Be careful, you might get burned.”

Missy laughed and his smile was no longer so forced.

  
  
  


—

  
  
  


Things didn't get busy until nine o’clock rolled around. The boredom of watching old guys drink for four hours straight had helped ease the churning in his gut somewhat, but he was back on high alert when a large group of the younger crowd finally made an appearance. 

If their loud rambunctious laughter was any clue, they were already drunk. 

Five guys and three girls, eighteen to twenty if he had to guess. All but one headed straight to the pool tables. 

He’d set up stools for himself all around the bar during the week, so he wandered over to the one just outside the pool room door. The guy they had left behind was giving Dany their order. He was tall and gangly and Jon wanted to beat the smug grin he was giving her off his face. 

She must have felt his stare—her eyes met his as the guy walked away and they had a silent conversation across the bar. 

_That's them._

_I’m watching._

A few minutes later she was carrying their order over, all eight pints balanced perfectly on her tray. 

“Want some help?” he murmured as she got close. 

She gave him a wink. “I got ‘em.”

He didn't doubt it for a second, but he kept his eye on them anyway, his muscles tensed and ready to move at the first sign of trouble. 

While the guys crowed at her arrival, loud and long, smiles taking up their whole faces, the girls reminded Jon of black cats drawing up and hissing. They eyed Dany like she had every intention of stealing their men. 

He snorted to himself. She was more likely to set them on fire than look at them twice.

She passed the pints around with a courteous smile, just enough to get by. He didn't fail to notice it always got a bit brighter as she handed one over to the women. Whether she was doing it out of sympathy or to inflame them more he couldn't tell. He was woefully out of practice when it came to women, not that he’d ever been good at it before. 

“What the fuck you lookin’ at, wanker!?”

His eyes shot to the source. It was Mister Tall and Gangly, all puffed up and gripping his pool cue. Jon’s immediate reaction was to wipe the floor with him, but, unfortunately, that was a last resort considering his job description. 

“That _wanker_ is Jon,” Dany replied before he could decide what to say, “my new bouncer.” She looked over her shoulder at him, her smile holding a proud edge. 

He grinned at the group and gave them a little wave. 

“A bouncer?” one scoffed. “What you need him for?”

Dany laid her tray on the corner of the pool table and braced her hands on the edge. She leveled her gaze at one guy in particular who stood at the other end. Everything about him was average in Jon’s estimation. “Because you _wankers_ like to start shit,” she said with a heavy dose of feigned warmth. 

Silence took over... as much as it could in a crowded bar on a busy Saturday night with the music blaring. After several exchanged glances between the group, the arsehole she’d been staring down swaggered over to her, while the rest smirked and mumbled between themselves. 

Jon was already on his feet when the guy reached her side and stopped. She straightened and met his smug smile. “C’mon, you know you like us,” he purred, a hand rising up to touch her arm. 

Jon took three steps, ready to rip his arm off, but he wasn't necessary. Dany had the bastard’s wrist twisted around until he was bent over from the pain, their faces mere inches apart. “Touch me and it won't be him you need to worry about,” she warned.

There was a chorus of hisses from the women and snorting from the men.

She let him go and picked up her tray. “Behave yourselves and I’ll like you just fine,” she said. “Don't, and you won't like us.” She walked away and he gave the group a long look before he followed her.

He caught up with her just as she reached the end of the bar and couldn't help but grin at her. “You sure you even need me?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe I won't, but it's good to know you're here if I do,” she murmured, her velvet eyes flicking up to his. 

“I'm here.” The words left him without thought and he immediately flushed. There was a glimpse of something in her eyes he couldn't name and he fled after giving her an awkward nod. 

He went to the kitchen and snatched a root beer from the fridge. As he passed the bar on his way back to his stool, he could feel her eyes on him, but he didn't dare meet them. Just went back to his job. Ignored the twisting and turning in his stomach. Poured root beer down his throat in hopes of drowning it. As usual none of it did any good.

How he would ever make it through a year or more of her drawing him like a moth to the flame he had not one clue. 

The shitheads left after two rounds of pool and pints, all of them throwing him and then Dany nasty looks as they walked out. His breath came easier once they were gone and thankfully the rest of the night passed without any trouble. 

They were closing up by a quarter till three. He took care of the chairs for them while Missy got the mops ready. Dany had turned up the radio the moment the door was locked. He told them goodnight and left them dancing and laughing as they cleaned. Grabbed a couple pretzels and cheese cups and headed to the loft. 

While he ate he checked the alley from his windows, keeping his own lights off so as not to give himself away. After ten minutes of watching he was satisfied no one was lurking about and he fell back onto his mattress, not even bothering to take off his clothes. He was fucking exhausted. Dany's music thumped beneath him and he stared out at the fiery glow of streetlights, visions of her dancing in his mind until it all faded to black.

  
  


—

  
  


He bolted upright, lungs snatching at air, heart thrashing. Something had broken. Shattered. Glass. He scanned his windows and saw nothing. A yell split the air, then another. A vicious shriek. He scrambled to the windows and his already frantic heart tried to rip straight through his ribs. A man had Dany pinned to her car, another standing behind him, cheering him on as she screamed and struggled like a hellcat. 

He didn't remember leaving the loft, going down the stairs or out the door. Only knew red and rage. The bastard he had on the ground. The satisfaction of skin and bone meeting skin and bone. Blood flying. The crack and give of a nose beneath his fist. A cheek. A jaw. 

The fucker went out much too quick for his liking and he was back on his feet, chest heaving as his eyes searched for his next victim only…

Someone else had already claimed him.

Through the dark red glow of the alley, he watched, mesmerized as Dany kicked the fucker’s arse. Each hit and grunt she gave echoing around them. 

The heel of her hand thrust up into his chin. His head snapping back as her other stabbed him beneath the ribs and bent him double. The final blow; her knee slamming into his crotch. A high-pitched wail bounced back and forth off the high walls and he dropped like a sack of flour into a moaning heap. 

She stood over him, panting, staring him down, some wild wrath come to life, and with a guttural scream she gave him one last vicious kick to his head.

Teeth flew through the air and danced across the asphalt, little white pebbles spinning and tripping through the crimson glare and fading into the blue-green haze beyond. 

Jon snapped out of his awe and was in front of her a moment later, but she was still lost to the adrenaline. She came at him like a raging inferno and he was barely quick enough to dodge her knee. He caught one hand, but missed the other. 

She had a helluva left hook. 

“Dany. It's me, Jon,” he said as calmly as he could, ignoring the throbbing she'd left in his eye and hoping his voice would pull her into clarity. “It's Jon. It's over.”

Her eyes suddenly widened and she went still, only her chest rising and falling with her heavy breaths hissing through her clenched teeth. 

He eased his grip on her wrists and stepped away, hands up. “We got em. It's over, we got em.”

She took in the scene around them and exploded right in front of him. Screaming, her hands slamming into his chest. Shoving him hard. “I don't need you fighting my battles for me! I can take care of myself damn you!”

He took a few more steps back to give her space, hands still up in surrender. She was trembling from head to toe. Pupils blown, breath frantic, hair a mess. He wanted to rip the world apart for her, but taking care of her was more important. He ducked his head to catch her eye. “I know you can,” he assured her. “It won't happen again. I'm sorry.”

She glared at him, fire in her eyes, but he knew it wasn't him she was furious with. Her lip was split, cheek bruised. A gash at her hairline had a small trickle of blood sliding toward her right eye. Another from her full bottom lip.

All of it infuriated him. He wanted to kill them for daring to touch her. Kick his own arse for not doing his job. He’d failed her, just like he failed everyone. But his self loathing and anger wouldn't help her now. He needed to get her seen about.

He dared to take a step closer. “Why don't we go back inside and get cleaned up?” he offered quietly. “I’ll call the City Watch.”

“No!” She seemed to catch herself, shook her head in small little jerks, fists pumping as she paced around. Expelling more of the energy he knew. “I’m fine.” Her flaming eyes left the bastard who’d pinned her to the car and landed on him again. “We don't call the cops. That's the rule.”

He was confused for only a moment then a wave of nausea rushed through him and his eyes fell closed.

_You idiot! You fucking fool!_

_I’d like you to keep a very close eye on her for me, Jon._

He’d pushed it away, the twisting in his gut, the prickling up his spine. Didn't believe him capable. But he had no doubt now who had done this. _Aerys._ Sent the bastards to attack his own niece just to fuck with him.

He wasn't sure who he hated more right then. Himself, or the King. 

He forced his eyes open, to face her. To take in his mistake, see what it had cost her. Bile rushed up his throat, burning and bitter. He swallowed it back down. “Sorry, I wasn't thinking,” he said, managing to keep his cool. He drew in a deep breath, needing to hang onto it. “We still need to go clean up. Why don't you go back inside, I’ll take care of them.”

She gave a snarl. “Just deal with them, I’m going home.” 

His feet had carried him closer before he could stop them. He knew what was coming for her. She couldn't be alone. “Will you let me take you?”

“No,” she snapped. “I don't need any help. I told you.” 

He got another shove before she stumbled around to the driver's door of her little car. The window was shattered. He was almost certain it was her head that had done it. She faltered at the sight of it and he was right behind her when she turned wide wet eyes on him that were as good as the knife that had pierced his heart. Her knees buckled, but he already had her. He eased her to the ground, immediately backing off and giving her space when he was certain she was going to stay upright. 

One of the fuckers groaned behind them. He spared them a glance long enough to assure himself they weren't an immediate threat before turning back to Dany. 

Her head was in her hands. She was mumbling to herself, the tone angry instead of broken and weak. He wondered if she was cursing herself the same way he was. He hoped not. She'd done nothing wrong. Didn't deserve this bullshit. No one did. 

The scrape of gravel against asphalt had him on his feet. The fuckers were standing, though not the least bit steady. He halfway expected to recognize them as the shitheads from earlier in the night, but neither of them looked familiar. It only took three steps toward them and they were running. He watched until they were out of sight. 

When he made it to her side again she had her head leaned back against the car, eyelids heavy, blood smeared across her cheek from her mouth. It made his own pump hot with rage in his veins. 

He should've killed the fuckers. Chased them down and beat them like the scum they were.

Her eyes rose to his and all the air ran out. He was back at the Wall. Alone. Balled up in whatever corner they’d pinned him into. Bodies laid out around him. A wild animal trapped by more than metal bars and thick concrete walls. 

A shaky hand reached for his and he took it. He wouldn't leave her alone. Wouldn't let her think any of it was her fault. Gently, he helped her up, an easy grip on her shoulders until he was sure she was steady on her feet. One of them needed to be.

He let his hands slide down her arms, letting her go, but she latched onto his wrist. A burning brand wrapped around him. “Thank you,” she whispered. 

His chest constricted, heart trapped and tormented. He hadn't got to her in time. Hadn't saved her from the fear and anger and shame he knew only too well. He didn't deserve her thanks. “I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner,” he husked out.

She shook her head, rubbed at the gash and winced. He carefully grasped her hand and moved it away to get a better look at the cut. It didn't look deep enough for stitches, but it was hard to tell in the shitty streetlight. Everything was washed in red. 

“Let's go inside,” he urged again. “Let me clean you up.”

Once again she refused, shaking her head while her grip tightened on him. Her eyes slid to his. “Take me home?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and breaking.

Save the day his world had splintered apart, Jon had never wanted so badly to wrap someone in his arms. To assure them both she was alright. He ached with it, but he wouldn't do it. For a hundred different reasons. But nothing would stop him from doing what she'd asked. “Yeah. ‘Course I will.”

  
  


—

  
  


“Turn left. It's the third on the right,” her muffled voice came from the darkness beside him. 

They passed under a streetlight as he turned the corner. He got a fleeting glimpse of her. She sat frozen, staring out the windshield. She looked so small it made him ache.

Other than her giving him directions they hadn't talked on the short drive. All of his energy focused on the road and not the storm rolling through him. 

Or so he was telling himself.

She’d been attacked because of him, hurt because Aerys was playing fucking games. But to what purpose? What end? What message was the bastard trying to send him? 

He already had him by the balls. Did he really think his siblings, the jobs and the money weren't enough to make him heel? Now he had to make Dany a pawn too?

The moment he put the car in park in front of her little house she was out of it. He was right behind her, worried her head injury was worse than it seemed, but stayed back to not crowd her.

She opened her front door and he got the shock of his life. Three huge and snarling dobermans stood there. A black one, the biggest by far, led his pack out onto the doorstep. The two behind him were slimmer, sleaker. One red and brown, the other a creamy gold with blue eyes.

“Shit,” he breathed and immediately dropped his gaze from theirs and forced himself to relax, stood stone still. 

Dany didn't say a word. Let the black stalk toward him down the steps and Jon waited to see if he would be torn to shreds or not. He held his breath as the beast crept closer and closer still, sniffed at his hand. Within a blink he was nuzzling for pets and Jon couldn't help but grin, a breath of relief rushing out of him. He slid his hand across his slick fur to scratch him beneath his ear. His big head fell into Jon’s palm, his eyes sliding shut as his tongue lulled out. The other two were instantly jealous, whining and begging for the same attention. The red even jumped up, his big paws smack in the middle of Jon’s chest as he licked at his face. 

“Some guard dogs you lot are,” Dany grumbled. “Rhaegal, get down. You're embarrassing me.”

Jon chuckled and finally gave the gold one some attention. “Were they supposed to eat me?”

“Yes.”

He bit back a grin. “Sorry.”

“You need to stop saying that,” she huffed and stumbled into the house leaving the door open behind her. 

Jon waded through the dobermans to follow her in. Shut the door behind them once they were all inside. Locked it just in case.

The dogs led him to her. She was in a little bathroom, squinting under the harsh glare of the lights as she inspected the gash on her head in the mirror. It was swelling up into a knot, dark purple bruises blooming around it. All his anger came flooding back.

Which was probably what possessed him to squeeze in behind her and grab a washcloth from the shelf over her toilet. Dany straightened up and watched him with owlish eyes as he wet it. He faced her. Silently asked for permission, staring into her beautiful eyes before he dared to touch her. 

Her tongue slipped out and licked at the cut in her lip. 

He swallowed. 

She gave a nearly imperceptible nod. He took it as a _yes._

Praying she couldn't hear the thrashing of his heart, he reached up and with careful hands brushed her hair back from the cut and gently dabbed at it. Slowly wiped the blood away. Kept his eyes focused where they belonged. Not on her mouth, her sad eyes watching his every move, or her chest. Her tank top hung askew, the large swath of black lace beneath it stirring him far too much for his comfort. 

The gash was thankfully not too deep. He was sure he could tape it closed and she'd heal up fine. He moved to her mouth, carefully cleaned the blood from her porcelain skin first, then assessed the damage to her plump bottom lip. Again, not too deep, but it would piss her off for several days at the very least. 

He hadn't meant for it to happen, but his eyes caught on hers and he forgot how to breathe. They were so bright he thought they could make him forget about the darkness that held him. The air had grown so thick it prickled at his neck, down his spine, yet refused his lungs. While his stomach twisted itself into knots his heart was in a vice, each beat frantic and desperate and painful.

It took all he had not to kiss her, if even just to distract her for a moment. To soothe the cut with his tongue, make her forget how it had come to mar her beautiful face.

_Fuck off, Snow. You already let her down once tonight, don't do it again._

He forced his eyes away and checked her hands next. They trembled in his own and that overwhelming need he felt to hold her came back. Once again he pushed it away. Her knuckles had taken some abuse, but nothing some antibiotic cream and bandages wouldn't fix. 

All in all she had come out of it fairly well. But he knew the worst of the damage wouldn't be the kind to be seen anyway. 

The moment he finished she took the rag from his hand. He backed away, fearing she had reached her limit with him, but she drug him back by his wrist. His knuckles were seen to with tender care. He hadn't even realized they were cut until she was wiping away the blood. Her hands were so soft against his own, he couldn't stop his mind from imagining them touching him elsewhere. From wanting the feel of them. The heat they would bring. The comfort.

He pulled away before he did something stupid, feeling like an arse when she shot him a hurt look. “Got a headache?” he asked, barely recognizing the sound of his own voice. He needed to be sure she was alright, not to mention a distraction.

_“What?”_ she nearly growled. “Of course I have a headache. Those fuckers—”

He stopped her with a hand up. “I know. I meant… How bad is it? Are you nauseous? Dizzy? Seeing double maybe? Things blurry?” He checked her pupils closely. Even gently turned her toward the light to be certain. Thank gods they were both normal. A trip to emergency wouldn't be a good time for either of them. 

She swatted him away. “No, none of that. I'm fine.”

“You sure?” he pressed. He wouldn't have her blowing it off just to save them trouble.

Her tongue swiped at her lip again and she pulled it into her mouth, sucked on it until he had to look away. “I'm sure.” 

“We should tape that cut on your head up,” he told her as he wiped his sweaty palms over his jeans. “Got any?”

“Just regular old bandages,” she answered quietly. 

“I can make those work if you can get me some scissors.”

She turned and opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror. A bit of shuffling later and she shut it, appearing with a box of bandages, antibiotic cream, and tiny scissors in her hands. He took them from her and got to work. 

His heart never slowed its pounding and a sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow and temples, the back of his neck as he snipped and taped. He’d been breathing so deeply as he worked his head was full of her candied scent. Lemons and flowers. _Lemon, flowers, honey?_ He didn't fucking know but it was the sweetest smell he could ever remember smelling and it was driving him to distraction.

The moment he placed the last tiny piece he stepped away and forced a small smile. “You need to ice it. You're gettin’ a pretty good knot.”

She turned back to the mirror and inspected his handy work. Her brows went up, and she met his eyes in the mirror. “You’ve done this before.”

“Once or twice,” he offered. 

“Thanks.”

“‘Course.”

She stepped closer to him, and he had no choice but to stand still else he’d fall into her bathtub. Her hand came up and every nerve he had caught fire as featherlight fingertips brushed around his right eye. He’d almost forgotten she'd clocked him. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I didn't mean—”

He gently grabbed her hand and pulled it from his face as he shook his head. “Don't be, I’ve had worse and deserve more.”

A deep furrow formed in her brow. She pulled her hand from his and walked away into what he assumed was her bedroom across the hall. The door shut behind her and he heard the lock click into place. 

It stung, but it was for the best. She couldn't get attached and neither could he. He’d seen her home, gotten her cleaned up. That's where it had to end.

The dogs all stood staring at him from the hallway, silent and stoic, judging him with eyes of gold and green and blue. He gave a bitter chuff and eased past them. “I'm leaving, don't worry.” 

As he reached the end of the hall a picture caught his eye. He’d missed it before, but staring at it now he wasn't sure how. 

A man and a woman stood side by side, both tall and… _ethereal_ was the only word that seemed to fit. Platinum hair, flawless features, statuesque and serene, smiles genuine. They were near identical too. A boy, gangly and sullen stood between, hair just as pale, face sharp, not yet the smooth and soft of his elders. The man held a little girl. Her arm was around his neck, moonglow hair in two neat braids, cheeks pink and chubby as she smiled brightly at the camera. 

He knew that smile. 

_Dany._

He could only assume he was looking at her and her father. Her brother and her aunt. The man and woman favored far too much not to be related. 

The wet scrape of a sandpaper tongue swiped at his hand and got him moving again. He saw himself out, giving each of her boys a pet. “Take care of her,” he told them and shut the door behind him, hoping she’d come out of hiding soon and lock it.

He hovered for a minute, wondering if he should maybe sit in her car, keep a watch out in case anyone else decided to show up and finish the job. She would probably kick his arse when she found him later on. But who cared as long as she was safe. He trotted down the steps.

Her car was so fucking small. He tried not to be thankful the window was broken, but the fresh cold air on his face eased the claustrophobia a bit. He tried not to think about how much it hadn't bothered him when she’d been beside him and pushed the seat back as far as it would go, giving himself as much room as possible. Laid it back too. It’d be a long fucking night, but it was better than worrying for hours on end. 

A chilly wind blew in and he hunkered down, crossing his arms over his chest, thinking of his leather coat laying on the couch back at the loft. 

He scanned the row of houses across the way. Every one of them was dark and dead quiet. Only the streetlights offered any proof of life lived within them—bicycles leaned on fences, garbage cans overflowing, plant beds full of the wilted stalks that had no doubt been summer flowers once. 

It seemed a whole other world to him. Like he’d been transported to another planet altogether. The North didn't have neighborhoods, the houses miles apart instead of meters. It wasn't at all what he'd imagined for Dany, either. Young and beautiful and single, from a wealthy family... He’d expected a fancy apartment at the very least. Somewhere on the other side of the city. Across the tracks. 

Not that she'd ever acted as if she was better than anyone else. Even considering the short time he’d known her he knew she never would. Feisty, yeah, but never arrogant. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He lurched upright. Hit his head on the roof of the car in the process too, his knee on the steering wheel. He rubbed over the sudden spike of pain throbbing through his scalp and turned to see Dany watching him. Glaring, really, her hands on her hips. Hair wrapped in a towel. Wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie from what he could see. Her bare legs drawing his eyes like magnets. 

The big black doberman was at her side, he walked up and stuck his head through the open window. Grateful for the distraction Jon scratched him under the ears while Dany rolled her eyes at them.

He didn't know how to explain himself without sounding like a creeper, but the truth felt best.

“I uh… I was worried,” he started. “They might know where you live, try to come finish what they started.”

She seemed to wilt a bit at that, hands disappearing into the sleeves of her hoodie before she crossed her arms over her chest. Head hung as she shifted around. Dainty feet lifting again and again off the cold asphalt beneath them. Her toes were painted red. She sniffed and threw him a glance. “You can't stay out here all night, Jon. It's freezing.”

She wasn’t wrong, of course. “Alright.” He urged the dog back and popped the door open and climbed out. Quietly shut it behind him. Glass tinged off the driveway. He hadn't brushed all the pieces away back at the bar apparently.

He gave her one last look, a small smile in hopes she’d return it. She only frowned at him. He tucked his hands into his pockets and went on his way. 

“Where are you going?” she called after him, sounding more than a bit exasperated.

He spun around. “Back to the bar?” 

Her hands went to her hips. “You're gonna walk five miles in the dark... with it freezing cold?”

He shrugged. It was the only option he had. He didn't belong in that little house with her. 

She huffed and crossed her arms again. “Do you even know how to get back?”

He didn't exactly, but he’d figure it out. “I’ll find it. Don't worry.”

“Jon, for gods’ sake. Come inside with me.”

“What?”

"Stay here,” she sighed as if he were dense, “with me.” She walked back to her door and flung it open. “You can sleep on the sofa. I’ll take you back in the morning.”

His heart leapt into his throat. Pounding so hard she _had_ to see it, even in the dim streetlight. He swallowed it back down. “You’ve had a long night, Dany.”

“And you haven't?” 

He was beginning to think she was stubborn. But then another thought hit him. Maybe the hardass act was just that. An act. “Do you _want_ me to stay?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“On the sofa,” she repeated sternly as she walked inside.

It was a mistake. He knew it, yet he found his feet turning him around and carrying him back up her steps and across her doorway. 

“Do you want something to eat? Or drink?” she called from where she had disappeared into the house again. 

He followed to where he thought he’d heard her voice, saw the hoodie and towel discarded on a chair by an old rotary phone, and eventually found the kitchen. And her. Standing in front of her open refrigerator. Its bright light shining through the thin t-shirt she’d put on. Which was all she had on, save a pair of tiny shorts that barely covered her plump arse. 

More than a few times over the past week he’d imagined how perfect her tits would be. Now, he pretty much knew they were. She wasn't wearing a bra and his ears were on fire and his cock was coming to life inside his jeans. 

He turned away and busied himself with looking at her calendar. “I’m good, thanks,” he muttered.

Bottles clinked together and the refrigerator door smacked shut. A moment later Dany hit him in the gut with a beer. “I’m not, so we're drinking,” she said and walked away.

The dogs trotted after her and being no better than one himself he drew up the rear. They wound up in her living room. It was cosy, mostly filled with a large sectional sofa, a couple lamps, and the weirdest telly he’d ever seen. At least he _thought_ that's what it was. It was huge and flat and hung on the wall. 

Dany was already curled up in the corner of the sofa, a pillow tucked against her stomach almost like a shield. The dogs had taken up the ends of the sofa. The black and red lying together at one and the cream stretched out over the other. The only spot left for him was close to Dany. It wasn't only his ears that were on fire anymore.

She noticed his hesitation and pointed to the empty space beside her. “Sit, Jon. We won't bite.” 

Ever obedient, he did what he was told. 

While Dany pretty much ignored him, turning on what was indeed the telly and flipping through the channels, her dogs continued to stare him down. He broke first, reaching over and scratching the black under his chin. 

“That's Drogon,” she told him. “Rhaegal beside him. And this one over here,” she waved the remote at the cream, “is Viserion.”

“They're gorgeous beasts.”

“They're not beasts,” she grumbled. “They're big, spoiled, rotten babies.”

He chuckled and gave Rhaegal the rub he was begging for. “Still gorgeous.” 

_Like their mother._

“Anything you want to watch?” she asked, still flipping through the channels, eyes having never left the screen. 

“Whatever you want. I don't really watch TV.”

A wry bubble of laughter left her. “You're so weird, Jon Snow.”

He grinned and scraped away some of the label on his sweaty beer with his thumb nail. “Thanks, Dany.”

“You're welcome.” He didn't look, but he knew she was smiling.

She fell asleep about an hour later, halfway through the second episode of some baking competition show. Curled up in the corner, the remote still in her hand. She needed to be in her bed, comfortable and warm, but he didn't have the heart to wake her. He pulled a blanket out from under Drogon, who grumbled and sighed at him, and draped it over her as best he could. Cursed himself for not remembering she should've been icing that knot. He sat her empty beer bottle on the floor along with his and settled back. Watching her. The slow rise and fall of her body as she breathed. The lights of the telly dancing across her beautiful face. The strand of moonlit hair lying against her cheek. 

_You can't have her. You don't deserve her even if you could._

With a smothered sigh he forced his eyes to the ceiling and willed sleep to come. Eventually, it did.

  
  


—

  
  


Movement woke him. How hot he was and the weight over his lap and pressing into his side registered soon after. Confusion had him frozen for a breath or two until he remembered where he was. 

Dany's house. On Dany's sofa. With Dany. 

Some time during the night, he’d apparently become their center. Rhaegal was curled into his left side. Viserion at his feet. And Dany… Dany was laying with her head in his lap. Silver hair splayed out everywhere, her face tucked into his stomach, Drogon stretched along her back. 

Without thought his fingers brushed away a sweep of hair that laid over her eye. Tucked it behind her ear with the rest. It was every bit as soft and silky as he’d imagined. 

She was so godsdamn beautiful it fucking hurt to look at her. Even with her bumps and bruises. 

He was gonna fall for her. He knew it as well as he knew his own name. Fucking hells, he was already halfway there. But he couldn't. Not with his past. Not even with his future. He was no good for her.

The dogs had already stirred, yawning and stretching around them. They were easy enough to get moving. Getting himself out from under her was another matter. But with some straining, twisting, and turning, he managed without waking her, a pillow tucked under her head to replace his lap. 

He left her there, sleeping peacefully and quietly slipped out, shut the door behind him and started his walk back to the bar. 

The streets were empty, the city still asleep in the early dawn. The air was damp and chilly, just as he preferred it. And he was alone. Like he needed to be. Like he'd always been. 

  
  
  
  
  



	5. You Got My Back Against the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another week passes and Jon knows he's on a slippery slope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Peeks from under my rock*
> 
> I know I said weekly and I swear I meant it! I thought I had a handle on where these two wanted to go but I was wrong. They put the brakes on me and insisted they knew best so, I listened, and grumbled, and whined, and pouted until I finally gave in and let them do what they wanted. And then I had to do more listening to my wise friend Frost, lol. Because she knows best sometimes too. :D
> 
> Anyway.... hope you enjoy this one, tis angsty in places, but I think you'll like where it ends up. I will not promise when the next update will come. Real life is about to get SUPER busy over the next three weeks, and Ash is already almost done with her part of the next chapter of Dragons so I'll probably work on that before getting back to this. But as always I will do my best to get as much up and posted as possible. Thank you all once again for all the love and enthusiasm you've showered me and this fic with, it makes me tear up every time I think about it, no lie. Love you all!!
> 
> And I can't leave without giving a shout out to Frost for her never ending patience, love, and support. She's amazeballs and I love her! And my Ashley, my tumblrinas, and even my tumblrdudes :D You all know who you are. <3<3<3

  
  


_Tonight I'll have a look_

_And try to find my face again_

_Buried beneath this house_

_My spirit screams and dies again_

_Out back_

_A monster wears a cloak of Persian leather_

_Behind the TV screen_

_I've fallen to my knees_

_I said you got me where you want me again_

_And I can't turn away_

_I'm hangin' by a thread and I'm feelin' like a fool_

_I'm stuck here in between_

_The shadows of my yesterday_

_I want to get away_

_I need to get away_

_Blanket of silence_

_Makes me want to sink my teeth in deep_

_Burn all the evidence_

_Of fabricated disbelief_

_Pull back the curtains_

_Took a look into your eyes_

_My tongue has now become_

_A platform for your lies_

_I said you got me where you want me again_

_And I can't turn away_

_I'm hangin' by a thread and I'm feelin' like a fool_

_I'm stuck here in between_

_The shadows of my yesterday_

_I want to get away_

_I need to get away_

_Now you know_

_Yeah you got my back against the wall_

_Oh god_

_I ain't got no other place to hide_

_Chained down_

_Like a sitting duck just waiting for the fall_

_You know_

_Yeah you got my back against the wall_

_Deep in the jungle_

_Camouflaged by all the fallen leaves_

_A hand holds up the sky_

_While shamefully I make my plea_

_The altar's callin'_

_But my legs won't seem to stand_

_Guess I'm a coward_

_Scared to face the man I am_

_I said you got me where you want me again_

_And I can't turn away_

_I'm hanging by a thread and I'm feeling like a fool_

_I'm stuck here in between_

_The shadows of my yesterday_

_I want to get away_

_I need to get away_

_Now you know_

_Yeah you got my back against the wall_

_Oh god_

_I ain't got no other place to hide_

_Chained down_

_Like a sitting duck just waiting for the fall_

_You know_

_Yeah you got my back against the wall_

_Now, you know, yeah you got my back against the wall,_

_Oh God, I ain’t got no other place to hide,_

_Chained down, like a sitting duck_

_just waiting for the fall,_

_You know, yeah you got my back against the wall._

  
  


_**Back Against the Wall - Cage the Elephant** _

  
  
  


The brakes squealed as he came to a sudden stop just inside the alley. The little black Fiat was parked by the door. His heart threatened to cartwheel out of his chest and another layer of sweat bloomed over the three or four already crusting his skin. 

Maybe he shouldn't have been surprised. She ran the place after all. _But why the fuck was she there? On a Sunday?_

He hadn't heard a peep out of her since she fell asleep on her sofa. No texts or calls to cuss him for walking out on her. No visit to see if he made it back alright.

He’d escaped to the gym, worked himself into exhaustion while trying to tell himself he wasn't hoping for any of it. It was a lie. He’d fucking waited all morning for his phone to make some kind of noise. To hear her car pull up outside. Something from her. Anything.

Pathetic fool that he was.

The silence he’d received served him right. For hoping. He’d learned long ago not to. It was his own stupid fault for forgetting. 

But now, here she was and that hot, trembling swirl was filling his stomach, forcing its way up into his chest. 

Half of him wanted to sneak in and get upstairs before she could see him. Hide out until she left again. But he wasn't a coward. At least he _usually_ wasn't. He was finding when it came to her, he actually _did_ have a yellow streak. 

He slowly pulled the bike the rest of the way in and parked on the other side of the door, tucked beneath the fire escape. He tugged his helmet off and attempted to tame his hair. It was still soaked with sweat. He slicked it back and tied it into a knot at the crown of his head.

With nothing else for it, he climbed off his bike and went inside, helmet and duffle in hand. And there she stood in the warm glow of the waning sun. Waiting on him. Leaned against the office door jam at the other end of the hallway. Black leather jacket, pale hair a messy halo around her beautiful but placid face. Arms crossed. One eyebrow raised. 

It was clear she wasn't happy with him and he had no idea how that made him feel. 

_Like shit? Guilty? Happy?_

_She wouldn't be pissed if she didn't care, would she?_

She pushed herself upright and cocked a hip out. “You know,” she began, a touch of attitude in her voice, “it's rude to leave without saying goodbye.”

He winced. Dropped his head and scratched at his neck. “I'm sorry, I—”

Her boots sounded against the old wood floors and he jerked his head up to see her disappear into her office. 

_Fuck._

He panicked in the ensuing silence, not a clue what to do. Stood there frozen like a fool, gaping at the empty space.

_You know nothing, Jon Snow._

_I know, Ygritte. I know._

“Are you coming? Or you gonna stand out there all day?” Dany yelled.

He nearly jumped out of his fucking skin.

He flung his helmet and bag at the bottom of the stairs where they landed with a ‘thunk’. He was at her door a moment later. She was sitting behind her desk, fingers drumming on the old worn wooden arms of her chair. She nodded at the one across from her. He sat down, mumbled another apology. 

With a roll of her eyes she leaned forward, flinging her thick hair over her shoulder as she reached for a piece of paper in front of her. Her lip was swollen. The scabbing thick, surrounded by an angry red. She'd pulled her hair over the knot they’d given her. 

“I need you to fill this out for me.” She handed the paper over. “I need to put you in the computer. For payroll.”

Jon pulled a face as he took it, confused. “Uh… yeah, sure.” He glanced over it. It was just the usual basic info. Name, address, ID number and such. Things the King would've already known, he thought. Would’ve told her already, or put him on the payroll himself. His stomach gave a queer flop and he looked back at her. 

A haughty eyebrow raised when he couldn't get his tongue to work quick enough. “What is it?” she asked.

He swallowed. “I wasn't already on it?”

She rested her arms on her desk and gave an ambivalent shrug. “Yes and no. I kept up with your hours last week. You’ll be paid for them, don't worry.”

“I'm not,” he was quick to say. 

Something close to a smile flashed across her face. “You weren't in the computer...” she began, “I needed to make up my mind before I made it official.”

“Make up your mind?” he parroted, a twinge of pain settling behind his pinched brow. He forced himself to relax. Rubbed between his eyes to push the furrow away as he breathed deep.

“Yeah.” The short answer and the sound of shuffling papers had him looking up again. Whatever she was after it didn't seem she'd found it. She shoved the stack to the side as she licked at her sore lip, her eyes never lifting to his. “On whether you’d be staying or going,” she finally said.

_Oh._

He slumped back in his chair as if she'd let the air out of him, but once again he was left spinning. 

“Is that alright with you?” she pressed, clipped and short.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, o’course,” he stammered out. 

“It's me who has to work with you, not Vis,” she offered, softer than she’d been. “I needed time to decide.” Her shoulders rose in another shrug. “I’ve decided.” She paused and his heart paused with her as he watched her tongue sweep out to slide across her bottom lip again. Her velvet eyes flicked back up to his, something in them he was too afraid to put a name to. “You can stay.”

Those softly spoken words sunk into his chest. Wrapped around his pounding heart. He wanted them to mean more than they did, but he knew they didn't. It was the job and nothing else. She'd simply seen him put down an arsehole. Knew he was qualified.

“Thanks,” he rasped, unable to hold her penetrating gaze, his eyes dropping back to the paper in his hand.

She stood and came to his side. His every nerve burned just as it had in her bathroom the night before, yet he was frozen like a block of ice, unable to move. 

Her hand gently grabbed his chin and tilted his head up and to the side, her eyes surveying the blackness around his right one. “I got you good, didn't I?”

A smile took over his face without his permission, a rush of air leaving him. “You’ve got a helluva left hook.”

The way she looked at him, her slow smile that only curved up one side of her mouth, the warmth in her eyes… he felt as if he was laid out on a sunny slope on the first true day of spring and winter might never come again. She let him go and the spell—or whatever it was broke. She stepped back and crossed her arms over herself again. Protective. And though her eyes never left his, they darkened, a shadow slipping over them. The sun was gone. 

Daenerys Targaryen had walls as high as he did it seemed, but inside, he'd bet his life she felt the same. _Lost and lonely._ It wasn't right. Yeah, she was tough as nails, could handle herself better than most men he knew. She didn't _need_ a man. But living a life without love, or very little of it did something to one's soul. Broke it, left it cracked in jagged pieces that ached to be brought together again. 

Jon couldn't help but wonder if her broken pieces might fit together with his.

He cursed himself silently. He was a fool. His hopes always turned to ashes, ground to dust each and every time. She deserved better than him, anyway. He had nothing of value to offer her. Just himself, _less_ than nothing. A pawn in a rich man's game. And when that rich man grew bored, or got angry enough, Jon knew he'd be thrown back where he'd found him. Or worse, into Blackwater Bay with the rest of the trash.

“You know a lot about those, don't you?” Dany asked. 

It took him a minute to remember what _those_ were. “A little.”

“Mmm, hmm.” 

He was sweating again. It was like she was sticking him with a hot poker. Prodding him to spill secrets, answer questions she wasn't asking. He decided to fight fire with fire. “Who taught you how to fight like that?”

“Self defense classes.” Her beautiful face twisted into a sneer of bitterness. “Living _alone…_ in _this_ city…”

“Aye. Makes sense.” He got to his feet, needing to move, his nerves cinched too tight. “I'm glad you do. Know how to fight that is. I'm sorry I—”

“Stop,” she told him, nearly snapped actually. He wasn't able to contain his look of surprise. She sighed and shook her head, frustrated, exasperated. Something. “You weren't hired to be my bodyguard, Jon. Just my bouncer. What you did…” She trailed off, her voice going weak. She turned away, looking out the door and pulled her lip tight between her teeth. 

She stayed quiet so long he felt that need build again. The one he kept having more and more. To just fucking hold her. Something told him she needed it as bad as he did, but who was he to give her that? 

Ghostly arms, skinny and strong wrapped around him. Taunting eyes and a mocking smile turned up. That rolling Northern accent singing in his ears...

_A poor bastard boy all alone, you are, Jon Snow. Always alone and always broodin’._

He winced and his past vanished like the spirit she was and Dany stood in her place. No mocking or taunting. Only gratitude, pure and soft. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He stepped closer, something stronger than him grabbing hold and propelling him to act. His thumb actually brushed just beneath the cut on her lip. “I wish I could've done more.”

There was a quick intake of air and then his hand was in hers. Held tight and so close her warm breath blew across his palm and he felt it _everywhere_. An electric shock dancing over his skin from head to toe and he wondered if he might float off the damn floor. 

“It was enough.” 

Words refused him. Everything did, until her nose suddenly wrinkled and she smirked. “You need a shower, Jon Snow. You stink.”

He took a quick step back, pulled his hand from hers. “Sorry,” he mumbled, flustered and frustrated and so very fucked. 

She cut him a look before she sauntered out the door. “You really need to stop saying that.”

A moment later the back door slammed shut. He walked out in time to watch her little car drive away. His cheeks puffed as he released a breath and made his way to the stairs. He grabbed his shit and went straight to the bathroom. A shower was definitely in order. 

  
  


—

  
  


The timer blared in his ears and he let his momentum carry him to a stop before he wobbled over to the bench and collapsed onto it. The cold metal was a blessed relief as it seeped through his sweats. It was almost cold enough out to suit his Northern blood. 

He sat there, head flopped back, trying to block out the harried mass of morning commuters crowding the sidewalk and street, staring up at the building above him through the clouds of his smokey breath and decided he’d made up his mind. 

He couldn't go another day living on pins and needles around Dany. He was going fucking insane. 

They'd been tiptoeing around each other since Monday. And it was fucking Saturday again. He was wound so fucking tight he knew he was bound to snap into a thousand pieces if something didn't give.

No more than work talk and common courtesies had been exchanged. He'd wanted to ask if she was alright a dozen times, but always sensed it would only drag up something she'd sooner forget. So he did his job, she did hers, and they skirted everything else. But he knew his eyes said as much as hers did every time they caught each other stealing a glance across the bar. 

While it was part of his deal with the King to watch her, it was simultaneously the least and most painful of all the prices he was paying. Taking punches and giving them back didn't hurt as much as wanting her, knowing he shouldn't— _couldn't_ have her. 

It was fucking torment. The likes of which he’d never known.

And damn her. She wasn't making it easy on him. She watched him as close as he did her, though she usually tried not to be obvious. Sometimes, _most_ times, he figured he was just dreaming it up. Her looks and stares. The few soft smiles he’d gotten. Even some teasing words.

Dreamed or not, he had to do something to stop it before she paid a price he could never save her from. 

He was nothing but trouble, and she’d had enough of that. 

And yet, it didn't seem to matter how determined he was. The moment he saw her, his strength waned, giving way to his wants. Making him almost forget they weren't just a guy and a girl eager and free to explore whatever was flaring between them. He feared it would grow to be something he couldn't control. But he had to.

Which was why he was going to tell her. The next time he saw her. She hated Aerys, or so Gendry claimed. Jon had seen nothing to contradict that. If she knew he was fighting for him, surely that would sour her opinion of him. It would stop things on her end. No more stares or smiles. Then maybe he’d have a chance in at least one of the seven hells of slowing down the fucking freight train he was strapped to. 

Besides, it wasn't right that she didn't know. He might have to play the King’s game, but he wasn't going to play it with her. He wasn't going to let himself be used against her. She needed to know her uncle had sent attack dogs after her because of him. That he could do it again. 

There was very little he had control over and _godsdamnit_ he was going to use it. 

He shoved himself upright, his body already recovering quicker than it had the week before. He hadn't even puked that morning. Damn Davos and his bloody intervals. He almost hated that they were working. He’d have to confess and he just knew the old bastard would tell him to run more. 

To help his feelings, he made his usual stop at the bakeshop for his Danish on the way back. A man needed some light in his life. But when he opened the door he got a lot more than he expected. The sun incarnate stood at the back of the line in the form of a very familiar figure. 

He was within an inch of turning around, knowing damn good and well he wouldn't keep his promise to himself. But she spotted him and he might as well have been a deer stuck in headlights. 

She looked him up and down with narrowed eyes and a playful smirk. “You found my secret.”

He chuffed and finally let the door shut behind him. “Last week.”

Those velvet eyes were still roving over him. And, as always, heat was rushing through him, his heart thrumming, pulse pounding in his ears. He shifted back onto his heels and crossed his arms. In nothing but his ratty sweats he probably looked like he belonged in the trash. 

Her eyebrows twisted up. “Every time I see you lately you're in need of a shower.”

Jon prayed the cold air and all his running already had his face red enough to hide his embarrassment. He looked down at his feet just in case. Scratched at his sweaty head. Her and any mentions of showers just… 

He dropped his hands, fisted them together in front of him. 

Fucking sweats wouldn't hide a damn thing.

“You _really_ like to stay in shape, huh?” 

“Yeah,” was all he could get out, a quick glance thrown her way from under his lashes. 

She was giving him the perfect lead in. All he had to do was open his mouth. Just spit the words out… 

_Kinda have to since I’m fighting for your uncle._

“Better for kickin’ arse, I guess.”

_Say it, you coward. Say it._

He nodded and licked his lips. “Helps a bit.”

She dipped her head and caught his eyes. He couldn't have looked away if he wanted to. Her smile was teasing, those ridiculously pretty purple eyes of hers sparkling. “And… maybe helps control the effects of your carb addiction?”

He chuckled then, couldn't help it. “Yeah, that too.”

She smiled, the apples of her cheeks rising and flushed, nearly hiding her squinting eyes. 

_Fuckin’ hells. How could one woman be so breathtakingly gorgeous and adorable too?_

“Lucky for me I don't care about any _effects_ ,” she sassed with a wink and stepped up to order. 

Like the no good dog he was, he allowed himself a glance at said _effects_ wrapped so nicely in her tight black denim jeans. 

“Whatcha want?”

His eyes shot to hers. She had a knowing smirk aimed his way. “Huh?” he asked dumbly and wiped at his mouth, willing his heated cheeks to cool. 

“What do you want?” she repeated. “I’ll get it.”

“Oh. No, I got it,” he stumbled out, patting his pockets for his wallet as he joined her at the counter.

Dany rolled her eyes at him. “Just tell the lady what you want, Jon. We're holding up the line.”

“Oh, I know what he wants,” the _lady_ cooed. Bessie was her name, he’d learned earlier in the week. She had the biggest fucking set of tits he’d ever seen. And by the way she always smiled at him he thought she might like to smother him with them. “Cheese danish, right?” she asked, giving him a slow wink. 

“Please,” he said with a tight smile and quickly handed over some money. He titled his head towards Dany. “For hers too.” 

“Jon,” Dany protested. “I told you I had it.”

“Oh now, Dany, lass,” Bessie chided her pleasantly. “You let the pretty lad pay for your sweets.” She leaned over the register toward him, her enormous bosom smashing the keys and making it beep so erratically it almost sounded like the poor machine was giving a death wail. “She likes the lemon honey sweet rolls best,” she whispered. She fucking winked at him again. “Just so you know. For next time.”

“Bessie!” Dany hissed. 

The woman waved her off, not bothered in the least by Dany's fierce glare. “Hush, girly. I'm doing you a favor. You been alone far too long.”

Jon kept his eyes to himself. Dany was like a sparking firecracker beside him. Added to his own embarrassment, it threatened to burn him to ash where he stood. Blessedly, Bessie passed him his change and their pastries over without any more match-making comments made. 

Dany made a bee-line for the exit and he hurried after her, holding the door open for her even though he half expected her to smack him for it. She didn't. Just murmured her thanks and walked out onto the sidewalk, waiting until he joined her. 

She threw him a pained grimace the moment he did. “I'm sorry about Bessie,” she grumbled. 

He chuffed, another flush crawling up his neck. “S’alright. I _think_ she's mostly harmless.”

She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “I don't know about that. Those tits of hers should be considered lethal weapons at the very least.” 

He laughed as she took a bite of her sweet roll, but it quickly died away. Her long lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks as her eyes fell closed. She fucking _moaned._ Long and low. A sound of pure pleasure. She chewed and swallowed, a thick drop of lemon glaze left clinging to her plump bottom lip. Her tongue swept out and pulled it between her teeth. 

He wanted to do that. To taste her. Feel her lips soft and plush against his. The bite of her teeth. The wet heat of her tongue. To take her breath for his own and give his in return.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” she asked, motioning to the danish in his hand.

He'd all but forgotten the pastry, and everything else too, nearly drugged by the display he’d just witnessed. She scrambled his damn brain better than a punch to the head.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “When I get back to the loft.”

“Need a ride?”

He could. Should. It wouldn't take long, just enough time to confess. 

Instead, he shook his head and held up his danish. “Better walk, keep this from sticking,” he attempted to joke.

She gave a playful roll of her eyes. “Suit yourself. I have to run. I’ll see ya tonight.”

“See ya.”

She was gone two blinks later. 

He had to tell her. Tonight. No more choking. If he didn't, he was fucking done for. 

  
  


—

  
  


An entire day was spent steeling his nerves. Hours of rehearsing in his head. Each word painstakingly turned over in his mind again and again. Where he would stand, _how_ he would stand… 

And she was fucking late again. 

It was five after and his thumb was hovering over the call button, her name and number mocking him on the screen when he finally saw her little car turn in. Equally pissed and relieved, he stayed where he was, his heart slowing to some semblance of calm while he sat down on the stairs and feigned interest in his phone. 

The clacking engine turned off. The car door squealed open and closed. Then another. 

_Another?_

Frowning, he looked up just as she reached the back door. She wasn't alone. A tall, skinny guy walked behind her, his hair the same unique blonde as Dany's, though the cut was… 

_Fucking ridiculous._

And his expression was one of pure petulance. 

Viserys. Had to be. He just screamed “ _right git”._

“Hey, Jon,” Dany greeted him with a smile. 

He got to his feet, and nodded, every nerve back on high alert. “Hey.”

“Sorry, I’m late. Had to go get Vis.” She glanced over her shoulder at her brother who’d been looking Jon up and down from the moment he walked in, his expression stony and scornful.

Jon nodded at him too, stiffly. He didn't get one in return. 

“I’ll be in the office,” Vis said in a bored drone and walked off. 

Dany groaned as she passed over her armload of pretzel boxes. “Can you put those in the warmer for me, please?”

“Sure.”

It was going to be a long fucking night.

—

  
  


The bar was packed. Had been for hours. All the tables full. The bar without one empty stool. The pool room crammed. He could barely hear himself think it was so fucking loud. 

Grey had come in to help the girls after a desperate phone call. Jon even had to serve a few tables. But, so far, he'd only had to show two guys the door with thankfully little to no fuss. 

He was on his way back to his corner from sending the second one off when Missy called out to him. “Hey, Jon! Can you go see if Dany needs help in the storeroom? She's been gone awhile.”

Instead of trying to yell back over the din he threw a hand up and worked his way through the crowd and into the back hall. She was probably trying to wrangle a keg onto the little wheeled trolley they had. She should've sent him. The damn things were hard enough for _him_ to move. They weighed a fucking ton.

A sigh of relief left him as he walked in the storeroom, the constant noise from the front finally fading to a fuzzy buzz in his ears. It wasn't easy for him to hang onto his calm in all the chaos. Memories he’d rather not relive kept creeping up his spine, crawling around in his head.

He rubbed his face and ran his hands into his hair, fingers kneading the tension that had built beneath his scalp. 

“Vis, that's enough.”

Jon’s head whipped up, body frozen save for his eyes searching the room for Dany. He’d barely heard her, but just _knew_ she was mad as all seven hells. 

“No,” Viserys hissed. “It’s not enough. Where is it?”

“I told you a dozen times. I. Don't. _Have_ it,” she seethed.

“No one else but you knows, Dany. You have to have it.”

“Let me go.”

There was a thunk. Bottles rattled. She hissed in pain. 

“Tell me, now, you little bitch,” Vis demanded.

Jon followed their voices, his pulse thumping in his temples, fists clenching at his sides.

“Vis, if you don't let me go—” She was obviously struggling, under restraint.

He rounded the end of the aisle and the world narrowed into intense focus, everything cast in a red-black haze. Her brother had her pinned to the shelves, her arm in a vice grip, twisted tight, his face an inch from hers. Jon was on him half a breath later. Ripped him off her. Slammed him against the other shelf and drove his fist into his face as he bounced back. Bone cracked. Blood spurted. The bastard screamed and fell to the floor.

He went for him again, but Dany got herself between them and shoved him away, shrieking in his face. “Bloody hells, Jon! What the fuck are you doing?!”

“My job,” he snarled.

She pushed him again, palms flat against his chest. “Not my bodyguard, remember?” she bit out. “I can handle this. Get back to work.” 

The fury in her eyes snapped him back from the brink. Guilt and shame hit him like a truck and he stumbled backwards, eyes caught on the bright blood pouring from Viserys’ nose and onto his pale skin as he writhed around on the floor. Whining like a sniveling child.

Dany came at him again. Tiny and furious. “Now, Jon!” 

He left. Found himself behind the bar sink with no memory of getting there. Missy was hovering at his side. 

“Jon, what's wrong? Is Dany, alright?”

“Yeah, she…” 

_Was going to fucking fire him for being the insane murderous bastard he was._

_Why couldn't he, just one time, control his fucking self instead of going off like a gun in a some crazed vigilante’s hand?_

“Jon!”

He startled and looked at Missy with wide eyes. Tried to shake off the last of the haze. “She’s fine. Pissed as fuck, but fine,” he managed to get out.

Missy didn't like that answer at all. Got right in his face. “Why is she pissed? What the fuck happened?”

He lifted his hand, flexed his fingers and aching knuckles. Viserys’ blood had already soaked into his skin. 

Missandei grabbed his hand, fury shining in her golden eyes. “Did you hit her?” she demanded.

Jon shot her a glare. “Fuck no,” he snapped. “I would never hurt her.” He pulled his hand from hers and turned the sink on. Washed the blood away. “It was Vis. I hit Vis.”

Her mouth fell open, eyes going bright and wide. All the anger disappeared and a slow grin spread across her face. She made an odd, squeaky bark of laughter and clamped a hand over her mouth. “You hit Vis?” she giggled through her fingers. 

Grey was suddenly peering over her shoulder. “You did _what?”_

“He hit Vis,” Missy told him, strangely gleeful.

“Fuck yeah!” Grey laughed. “‘Bout time someone knocked that wanker on his arse. You _did_ knock him on his arse, right?”

“Tell us what happened,” Missandei begged, tapping his shoulder in a frantic flutter.

Jon didn't understand what they were so fucking happy about. Why Dany seemed to have been all but forgotten. “He had a fucking death grip on her, threatening her,” he told them. “I saw red… I lost it.” He ran a hand through his hair. “She's gonna fire me.” 

“No, she won't,” Missy was quick to say. She was shaking her head, still smiling. “She won't fire you, Jon. Everyone who knows Vis wants to hit him. Gods, I wish I had seen you do it.” 

“Me too,” echoed Grey. “Good on ya, mate,” he added before walking off to see to a group of customers crowding the register. 

Missandei glanced at them before turning back to him and rubbing his shoulder. “I gotta go help Grey, but just relax. It’ll be alright, I promise,” she told him before leaving him alone to wash the blood from his hand.

He didn't believe a fucking word of it. 

  
  


—

  
  


Despite his best efforts to hide, she found him mindlessly moving cases of ale in the storeroom hours later. Viserys had been carted off not long after he’d bloodied his face and she’d returned to the front, completely ignoring him for the rest of the night, while he sat and stewed in his own self hatred from his stool in his favored corner. 

He hadn't looked at her, but hadn't been able to _not_ look at her either. It was fucking torment, but he'd succeeded in building a wall between. Which was what he ultimately wanted. Needed. 

Missy and Grey had stuck around and provided a buffer as they closed up, acting as if it had been any normal night. But they had left some fifteen minutes before, both throwing him sympathetic glances as they walked out. He’d immediately fled to the storeroom needing to feel useful, to do something to make up for his fuckery. Not that he ever could. 

She was like a fire at his back, her ire burning into him as she stood there staring at him. No doubt her arms were crossed, her jaw clenched at the very least. He stacked another case, unable to face her. 

It didn't take her long to lose patience with him. “What the fuck, Jon?”

He straightened, rubbed his sweaty palms up his thighs. “I'm sor—” 

“Don't you dare fucking say it,” she scolded him and grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn around and deal with her. “Do you think it's your job to save people? Huh? You want to be the hero? Is that it? Because I promise you, I don't need one,” she bit out.

His stomach roiled, eyes falling closed. He shook his head. “That’s… No. I'm no hero.”

“Then what in the hells was that?” she demanded, every bit the fiery dragon her family was known for. Eyes glinting and teeth bared. “The other night… yeah, okay. But Vis? _My own brother?_ That's none of your business, Jon.”

“It won't happen again,” he promised before fleeing yet again. As far as he could anyway. Shoved his hands in his hair and walked down through the cases. Spun back around when he reached the end. She hadn't moved, still glaring at him, hands on her hips. He forced himself forward. Forced himself to face who he was. “I’m… I’m no good, Dany. My switch flips. I don't mean—”

“Your _switch_ cannot flip on my customers, do you understand me?” she snapped. “I will fire your ass so fast.”

“Maybe you should.” The words left him without any thought, but they weren't wrong. It would solve a lot of things. The biggest thing. 

She shot him a lethal glare. _“What?”_

“Fire me,” he said. “I deserve it.”

She blew out a harsh breath and made a small, pacing turn as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Soon enough she was right back in front of him, but most of the fury had leeched out of her. “If he'd been anyone else, I would have in a fucking heartbeat. But Vis…” She looked away and sighed. “Vis an absolute wanker,” she told him, her entire body seeming to sag with exhaustion. “I'm actually not pissed you knocked the piss out of him. He's needed it for far too long.” She stuck her finger in his face, “but that does _not_ mean it can happen again.”

He shook his head. “I can't promise that,” he told her, honesty the only thing he was capable of, no matter how much it stung.

She didn't take it well, all her fire flaming right back to life. _“Excuse me?”_

He made himself hold her gaze. She had to understand. “I told you. I'm no good. I'm wired wrong. I'm not going to stand here and lie to you. If I see him treat you like that again…” _He’d fucking kill him_. “Fire me, before I do.”

She stared him down and he felt as if she was stripping him bare, right down to the bone. Seeing all the shadows and demons, the broken pieces, the blood on his hands. His pale and lifeless heart. He wanted to run, but there was nowhere else to go. 

“No.”

He blinked. Shocked at the hard defiance. He’d missed something somewhere. She wouldn't have said that. “M’sorry, what?”

She crossed her arms. “I said… _no.”_

His head swam, everything turning blinding and red. Much as it had earlier, but for an entirely different reason. “I quit,” he ground out and skirted around her, making for the door. 

He had to leave. There had to be somewhere else he could work. He couldn't do it anymore. Had to get away from her.

Dany grabbed his arm, and spun him back around. “You can't quit,” she argued, something more than anger in her eyes now.

“I just did.”

Her grip on him tightened. “I'm not letting you quit, Jon.”

“Why?” he snapped. “Are you not hearing me? I’ll do it again.” He got in her face, not out of anger, but to impress upon her how serious he was. “And next time he may not get up.”

She finally let him go, her hand lingering for far too long on his skin. “You know why,” she said softly.

He didn't know what the fuck she was on about. “No. I don't.”

A pained expression took over her face. “He won't let you.”

“He?” But knew the answer the moment the question left his mouth.

_Aerys._

A bolt of shock shot through his chest, shuttered his breathing. Turned his blood ice cold. “You know.” Dany nodded, regret shining in her eyes. “How long?”

“It took me a few days.”

_“A few days?_ What's that mean?”

He didn't get an answer. She walked away and he was right on her heels. She went behind the bar and pulled two tumblers. He went around the other side, needing the distance between them. “What does that mean, Dany?” he demanded, his hand landing hard on the bar top. 

Two weeks he’d been tied up in fucking knots and she'd known all along. He wanted to punch something. Roar in rage. He pulled his smokes out instead, lit one as he turned away. Sucked half of it down while pacing the floors, the boards squeaking under each heavy fall of his boots. 

She hadn't said a word. Not one. Just poured a shot of whiskey and pushed it toward his side of the bar. Cool as a fucking cucumber. 

“I don't want that,” he growled.

“You need it.” She poured another and drained it herself. “So do I.”

He stopped his pacing and snarled at her: “I'm not gonna play games with you, Dany.”

_Fuck that. Not with her._

Her velvet eyes narrowed at him over the rim of her tumbler. She finished off the last swallow and sat the glass down gently. “I'm not trying to.”

“Then answer me.”

She drew in a deep breath. Ran her tongue across her teeth and leaned on the bar with crossed arms. “I knew nothing about you until you were _hired_ last Monday,” she offered and held up a finger. “I got one text from Vis. _One._ ‘Your new bouncer is moving in today’. That's it. That's all I knew until Gendry showed up with you.”

He took in her confession, and another long drag of his cigarette, never taking his eyes off her. She wasn't lying. At least he didn't think so. But what the fuck did he know? 

She didn't give him any time to question her, regardless. “I take care of myself if you haven't noticed,” she said defensively. “Do I strike you as the type to spend hours every night, many of them alone, with a guy I don't know? Without some sort of background check?”

_Background check._

A sharp ringing erupted in his ears and he could only shake his head. If he opened his mouth he might very well throw up. He suddenly felt sixteen again, trapped against a wall, half a dozen men with sickening glee glowing in their eyes pressing in on him. 

He’d wanted to turn her away. Had needed a wedge to put between them. But not _that_. He never wanted her to know any of that.

“I didn't find much of anything with only your name,” she went on and he almost collapsed with relief, although his knees were weak and wobbly. “But it didn't take a genius to figure out you weren't here just to help me. The fact you're constantly running or at the gym when you're not here…” she shrugged. “With a few careful questions asked within the _family,_ I knew there was a new fighter.”

He finished off his cigarette and got his legs to work enough to get him back to the bar. He sank onto a stool and crushed his smoke in the ashtray in front of her. Tried to hang onto some semblance of composure.

She watched him the whole time, silent and stoic. Until she wasn't. “So why are you here, Jon Snow? Why make a deal with the devil? Am I your payment?”

His body's reaction was so violent he almost fell off his stool. He put his feet under him before he could do just that and shot her a glare. “No! _Fuck no!_ I didn't even know you or this bar existed until they brought me here. That big ass goon told me your name and I thought you were a dude for fuck’s sake.”

A flash of a smile lit her face. Disappeared just as quickly. She eyed him for a long time before walking around the bar and taking the stool beside the one he’d just vacated. 

He couldn't stand her insinuation, or her silence on the matter. “You were _not_ part of the deal, Dany. I wouldn’t have taken it if you were.”

“Relax, Jon. I believe you,” she assured him and proceeded to sit there and watch him as he took up his pacing again, though admittedly with a little less fire propelling him. He probably shouldn't, but he believed her. When she caught his eye on the next pass he stopped, waited to see what she had to say, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That doesn't mean I don't need more of an explanation. People only get in bed with the King for three reason. Stupidity. Greed. Or desperation. Which are you?”

“Greed has nothing to do with it.”

“No, I didn't think so.” She reached out and plucked at his t-shirt. An old band tee worn so thin it was almost see-through. She sat back, one elbow on the bar, her head resting in her palm. She was far too relaxed. It only made him less so. “I don't think you're stupid either.”

He gave a bitter chuff and sat back down, suddenly too tired to stand. Rubbed at his brow and temples, a full throb having built behind his eyes. “You didn't do enough digging, then.”

“Your records are sealed. Did you know that?”

His head snapped up. He stared, blinked, utterly confused and unable to form any kind of response. He turned back around and buried his hands in his hair, elbows braced on the bar. 

_Gods save him, what the fuck had he done?_

“Jon…” Her hand slipped around his wrist and gently brought him out of hiding. She waited until he could bring himself to meet her eyes. “I know him better than almost anyone else. Everything is a game to him, everyone a player, and he's the gamemaster. Nothing gives him greater pleasure than tormenting people's minds. He has no empathy. No sympathy or compassion. He thrives on slowly crushing those beneath him, which to him is everyone. He's evil. There's no other word for him. Whatever he’s promised you…” she shook her head slowly, sadly, “he will use it to hurt you in any way possible for as long as he possibly can while you give him exactly what he wants.”

He could only stare at her, fearing any moment he might be sick. He knew Aerys was bad news, had imagined even worse, but what she’d just described...

“I probably can't get you out of it, it's too late for that,” she went on. “But I might be able to help you survive it. I can't do that though if you don't trust me.”

She still had a hold of his wrist. He eased it from her grip, the confusion it created in him too much to process. “I want to, Dany, but how can I? How do I know you aren't playing me just like he is?”

Her shoulders gave a little shrug. She wasn't hurt by his accusation in the least. “I guess you'll just have to listen to your gut, like I have with you.”

“And what's your gut say about me?” 

She slid off her stool and stepped up to his. Slowly spun him around to face her. Wedged herself between his spread thighs. Close enough he could feel her warmth, smell her, the heady mix overwhelming him in an instant. She took one of his hands in hers and pressed it against the side of her neck. “Do you feel that?” she whispered.

Her pulse was running a rapid beat beneath his palm, insistent, her skin hot. “Yeah,” he answered, the air leaving his lungs.

“Every time I see you, it happens. You make me feel things I never have. And I think the same thing happens to you,” she whispered. “Doesn't it?”

His heart _was_ pounding, the rush of blood in his ears so loud it nearly drowned out everything else. She was right. She did things to him no one else ever had. He'd never wanted _anyone_ the way he did her, but he couldn't. They couldn't. She _had_ to know that. He slipped his hand free from her warm neck and leaned back, tried to put space between, his senses fighting to take hold again. 

“Doesn’t matter if it does. We can't. Your uncle, he'll… I won't be the reason he hurts you again.”

“Again? What do you know about him hurting me?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

“The assholes last weekend.”

“You think he sent them?”

“I know he did.”

“How?” 

“He called me that afternoon. Before he hung up he told me to watch over you. That your aunt would be very upset if something happened to you. I didn't watch you, and they nearly—”

A bitter scoff left her and she was shaking her head at him. Like she’d done a dozen times that night. “It's not your fault, Jon,” she told him. “You could've walked me to my car and watched me drive away, he would've had them run me off the road instead, or sent them to break in. He would've hurt me no matter what you did, because he wanted to. He’s done it before, he’ll do it again.” 

She was far too calm, was taking it far too well. Almost resigned. Accepting. 

_If she thought he'd let her get hurt just to ease this ache between them… Ignore the threat they faced…_

_Not a chance in all seven hells._

“Then whatever this is... we can't,” he argued, shaking his head. “I won't let him use me to hurt you.” He dared to put his hands on her, gripped her hips and carefully pushed her back. Got off his stool and walked away. Kneaded at his tight neck. 

But Dany wasn't having it. She closed all the space he’d just put between them, burning him with her nearness. “I don't care what he does to me, Jon. I quit letting him hurt me a long time ago.”

His jaw clenched as he struggled to hang onto the thin, unraveling thread he was hanging from. He gently grasped her by the arms and pushed her away again. “ _I_ care.”

She relaxed in his hold and tilted her head at him, her expression knowing. Soft and open. Wanting. He was in trouble. So much fucking trouble.

“I know you do,” she whispered. “That's why I want to help you.”

“How Dany? How can you help me? Huh? What can you do to get me free of him?”

“I don't know that I can, but I won't know at all unless you tell me what he promised you.”

Alarms blared within his head. Fear and doubt clawed down his spine and up his throat. They were standing in the middle of the room, yet he felt as if his back was against a wall. And he didn't like it.

“Why does it matter so much to you?” he pressed.

She stepped back, finally giving him space, or maybe taking some for herself. Her head had dropped, eyes falling to the floor. She crossed her arms. Became the girl he’d only seen glimpses of. The one that was as alone as him, that hid behind the fierceness and fire. 

“Because he promised me something once, and it cost me almost everything.” She looked up, and he didn't see the pain he’d just heard in her voice, the hurt and sadness he expected from the confession she’d just given. The flames were back in her eyes. Bright and blazing. “He tried to break me, and nearly succeeded. I will not stand by and watch him do the same to you if I can help stop it.”

In the short time he’d been _set free_ he’d considered running. Considered giving up. Considered committing the crime he’d been convicted of but never did. Despite the rage. The gutting fear. The despair. He’d known none of them would save him, or anyone else.

He’d made a choice even though it had been no choice at all, and now he faced another. 

Trust her, or don't.

The decision was a lot easier than he expected. 

“Stay here,” he husked, “I’ll be back.”

He didn't wait to see if she listened. Made it as far as the storeroom before he was running, taking the stairs two at time. He went straight to the refrigerator and pushed the magnets off their picture and pulled it down, fought back the burn blurring his vision. If Dany was right about the King, he’d never see them again. Not alive. Or if he did, he was certain it would be to watch them die. The last seven years had been nothing but a nightmare. But this reality was something different. The feeling that had its claws in him now… It was something so much worse. Nightmares ended. You woke up and they were gone. 

This might never end. Would destroy him completely, yet leave him alive. Leave him to suffer endlessly. 

“I like what you’ve done with the place.”

His heart jolted in his chest, he spun around to find Dany wandering through his living room. She had the whiskey bottle in her hand, the tumblers in the other. She walked over to the kitchen counter and set them down, gazed at him as if it were a normal occurrence for her to be there.

He’d imagined this same scenario more times than he cared to think about. Her, there, with him. In ways that filled him with disgrace and desire alike. 

“Can I see?” she asked softly, pointing at his hand. 

It took more strength than it should've, but he passed it to her, the picture trembling in his grip. She took it gently, held it carefully as she looked at it. Giving him no reason to snatch it back like his anxiety was screaming at him to do. 

He shoved his wet hair back from his face and willed himself to calm down.

Dany looked up and cast him a tender smile. “They're adorable…”

She was leaving it up to him to explain. One of the thousands knots within him loosened. He shoved his hands in his back pockets to keep them still. 

“My brother and sisters,” he croaked. He cleared his throat and tried again: “Half-siblings, anyway. I haven't seen them in nearly seven years.”

“Because?”

He shrugged. “Lots of reasons. But mostly because the state took when I was fifteen.”

She took that in silently, but there was a storm of emotions in her eyes that had his own barely contained emotions threatening to rise up and choke him. He swiped a hand over his mouth, swallowed hard.

“He promised you he’d find them, didn't he?” she asked. He nodded and Dany's thumb ran over Arya's face, screwed up in a goofy grin. “She looks like you,” she said softly, smiling 

He walked around the counter and to her side. “That's Arya. Sansa,” he indicated, “Rickon.”

“He has your hair.”

He gave a weak grin, despite the gaping ache in his chest. “The curls, at least.”

“How old are they now?”

He had to clear his throat again. Lick his dry lips. “Sansa’d be near twenty. Arya seventeen. And Rickon… Twelve, thirteen. I promised them I’d get them back. That it wouldn't be long…”

It was suddenly all too much and he pulled the picture from her hands and put it back on the fridge. It was all he had of them, all he might _ever_ have. He had to keep it safe. 

He turned around and there she was, right beside him. “I won't make you any promises, but I want to help you. I will help you. I think we can help each other.”

“Each other?”

“Two’s better than one, isn't it? We’ll work together.”

“Work on what?”

“Helping you. Helping me. Helping _us.”_ She reached up and grasped his arm, slid her hand down to his wrist. “Will you trust me, Jon?”

“I want to.”

“But?”

“I’ve hurt too many people in my life. I’ll hurt you too, even if I try my damnedest not to.”

“I’m a big girl. I know how to take care of myself.”

“You’re not listening,” he pleaded. “I told you. I'm no good. Not for you. Probably not for anyone. Either way… We _can't_ do this.”

She took his hand and laced their fingers together, squeezing hard. “I appreciate you looking out for me, I do. But that's my decision. Who's good for me, or not.”

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh, trying to push away how good her hand felt in his. Warm, just the right fit, _steadying._ Like an anchor. He took a deep breath and met her eyes.“Yeah, alright. It _is_ your choice, but you don't know enough about me to make that decision, and when you do, you'll know I'm right.”

She reached up and tucked his damp hair behind his ear, the gesture slow and soft, chipping away at the walls he was trying so hard to keep standing. “I know enough about you,” she said quietly. “I know you don't stand by and watch people get hurt. Twice now you could've walked away, decided it was none of your business, or maybe that I deserved it.”

He shifted on his feet, scowling fiercely. “I would never think that.”

“You could’ve joined in,” she went on while he shook his head, jaw clenched in anger at the abhorrent thought. But her thumb was rubbing over the back of his hand, washing the red from his vision. “Most men I know would have. But, you're not like them, are you? You're good to our customers even if they're acting like fools. You control your anger when they bait you. You're beautiful, and dangerous, I think, but you're not arrogant. You're a good man, with a good heart.”

He pulled a face. “Beautiful?”

She laughed, the soft sound sliding in his ears and down his spine. “Yes, Jon, you're beautiful. It hurts me to look at you sometimes.”

“I know that feeling,” he blurted out, eyes taking her in. He could drown in her and be happy about it.

“Did you hear anything else I said?” she asked, tugging on his shirt.

He dropped his eyes to her hand still in his. It almost felt as if it was someone else was holding hers. It'd been years since he'd touched a woman. Since one had touched him. Since anyone had touched him with any sort of affection. 

He blew out a heavy breath and nodded. Her words… He _wanted_ to believe them, but the evidence was stacked against him in ways she could never understand.

“Jon, all I know of you makes me want to know more,” she whispered. “I want to know everything.”

“That’s just it, Dany. That’s all the good there is.” He pulled his hand from hers. “You won't like the rest.”

Her eyes flared, lit with challenge. She poked a finger in the center of his chest. “You don't know that, and there's a lot you don't know about me either. Maybe I'm just as bad as you.”

He snorted. “Not likely.”

She stepped over to his kitchen counter and picked up the bottle of whiskey. Shook it at him. “We don’t have to work tomorrow, and sleep is overrated anyway. I'll spill my secrets, if you spill yours.” 

He twisted his head at her, lips pursed tight, eyes cut and narrowed. Her smile turned wicked. 

“C’mon. No more secrets between us. Drink with me, we'll talk all night about our shitty lives, maybe watch the sun come up. You got a better way to spend a Sunday morning?”

He took a deep breath and blew it out, running his hands through his hair. He was a fucking fool, wanting any scrap she could offer, knowing it would only lead to disaster in the end. Aerys probably wouldn't even bother sending him back, he'd just have him erased, maybe her too. 

_And what about his siblings?_

“You’re really gonna turn me down?” she asked, obviously getting fed up with his stalling. She had a haughty eyebrow raised and a firm pout in place on her full mouth. 

He rolled his eyes. “You, do _not_ play fair,” he complained.

“Never said I did,” she shot back and slapped a hand down on his counter. “Look, Jon, I get it. You don't want anyone getting hurt. I don't either, but that's not going to save us from anything. I’ve been in his game for years, pain is just part of it. But I'm real tired of it being the only part. If you don't want whatever this is going on between us, fine, just say so. Like I said, I'm a big girl, I can take it. I think you'd be lying to both of us, but whatever. I’ll still do what I can to help you, but if this is just you being too chicken shit to take a chance on me, then I—”

He swallowed up her complaints with his mouth, kissed her as if his life depended on it. And maybe it did. He'd been dead inside for far too long, but there was nothing about Daenerys Targaryen that didn't make him feel alive. That didn't make him _burn_. 

He poured all of that need and want into his kiss, drowning her with it. Drinking her whimpers and moans, his tongue seeking hers, lips devouring, hands intent to absorb her until they were forced apart for air to ease their begging lungs.

She shuddered in his arms, her breath coming out in feathery pants, his shirt gripped in her fist, as if that was all that was keeping her upright. He couldn’t help but grin to have wrecked her so. 

“Bloody hells, Jon,” she gasped, her forehead dropping to his chest. 

He nudged at her with his nose and mouth, her neck, her jaw, her cheek, drawing her eyes up to his. They were blown as wide and dark as a stormy sea and it was his turn to shudder. The desire to take her right then and there was almost blinding, but he found some small scrap of strength to keep himself in check, bringing his hand up to her face and running his thumb across her cheekbone. 

“I’m not a chicken shit, I'm only trying to protect you.” 

She shook her head and sighed, her fingertips scraping down his scruffy jaw, her brow pinched, full lips pouting. “Stop being so damn noble and tell me what it is you think is so bad, then let _me_ decide if I need protecting from it or not.”

Whether it was her words, the care he saw glowing in her eyes, or something else altogether, Jon made his decision. He was being offered something life had seen fit to never give him. He might be a fool for grabbing it, but he'd rather go out a happy one, than a lonely one.

He let her go and took the bottle of Jack from her and opened it, pouring them each a large shot. He downed one, the rich burn sliding down his throat and into his stomach, warming and calming. He poured himself another as she smirked at him.

“If I'm not drunk, you won't get a word outta me.”

Her smirk turned into a smile and she took up her own glass, clinked it to his. “How about I join you?”

“I’d like that,” he let himself admit.

“Thought you might.” She winked and took his hand again. “Grab that,” she said, nodding at the whiskey bottle. 

He did as she asked and she pulled him out of the kitchen and toward his wall of windows. “Where we going?”

“I know a place I think you're gonna like. Trust me.”

“I do.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Keep Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Jon begin letting down their walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. I could make several excuses, but I won't bore us. Thank you for your patience regardless if you're still here. I will say these two once again took over lol. I got them talking and they just didn't want to stop. So while this chapter will answer many questions it won't answer them all. It was getting far too long so I've split it in two. Keep in mind though, the answers some of you have been eager for are rough ones, so PLEASE check the new tags and read with caution. These babies have walked a rough road to each other. 
> 
> Oh, and Dany's family tree is a twisted mess, just roll with it. 
> 
> Ash read over this for me a couple days ago <3 But it's not been betaed, so all mistakes are mine. Hopefully I've managed to keep it up to par with all the rest. Love to all, and James and Martha.... This one is all for you! <3

__

__

_Keep me clean, keep me warm_

_Keep my soul away from harm_

_Keep the night, keep the day_

_Keep the in between away._

_Hold that second, hold the time_

_Hold that picture in your mind_

_Hold the smoke, hold the fire_

_Hold all that you desire_

_Show me trust, show me love_

_Show me heaven up above_

_Show your soul show your mind_

_Show it to me all the time_

**_Keep Me - The Black Keys_ **

  
  


The cold metal railing in his grasp was a shock to the senses, yet soothing too. Cooling some of the heat that had plagued him all day, and seemed determined to continue as he watched Dany make her slow way up the fire escape, her pert arse right in his face.

He forced himself to concentrate on other things. Like the sound of their footsteps on the iron slats, dull percussive rings as they climbed, like the soft sporadic beats of a drum core just beginning to warm up in the distance. It brought back memories from long before. A wisp of smoke suddenly turned crisp and clear in his mind. Tucking himself away under the bleachers on chilly Friday nights. Smoking his cigs while watching the swarms of insects dance in the blinding beams of light high above. Through the slats and countless legs and feet instead of his brother everyone else was cheering for on the field.

Robb always won. There’d been no need to watch.

Until Ygritte would drag him all the way up to the top seats that is. So everyone would see them together and know he was _hers._ He’d hated her doing that. 

His eyes flicked up to Dany. 

He was counting himself a fool just as he should’ve with Ygritte. But for a whole different reason. Dany wasn't dragging him up to the top of a building to put him on display, she was guiding him to a safe place he’d been too dumb to think of. 

He’d known the fire escape was outside his windows, but had never felt the need to follow its path. Now that Dany was leading him up, he was imagining all the nights he could've spent under the stars, in the cold, fresh air, with no roof over his head. No walls around him. No bars or doors to close him in. He wanted to stop her. Turn her around and bring her back down a few steps until she shared one with him. Kiss her until she knew what she'd just given him. 

Instead, he climbed on, the suffocating band that had been cinched around his chest for years constricted and cut loose all at once.

After another flight of stairs they reached the top and while it wasn't the tallest building around, The Dragon Pit was perched high enough on Rhaeny’s Hill to give them one hell of a view. 

Jon never dreamed he’d consider the city anymore than a foul smelling cesspool overflowing with arseholes, but up here… 

He gave a breathy grunt of surprise.

“Not bad, huh?” Dany prodded. “I used to come up here a lot back when.”

“Back when?” he echoed quietly, still lost in the view. Thousands of twinkling lights laid out before him, as if all the stars in the sky had fallen to rest upon the city.

“When I lived in the loft.”

That scrambled his brain a bit and his eyes shot to hers. “You lived in the loft?” he asked, pointing at the building beneath his feet. “ _My_ loft?”

“Me and Vis.”

“Huh.” 

Between that revelation and the whiskey already coursing through him, his head was going floaty. He hadn't had a drink in years, nor eaten anything in hours. He gave a slow blink and went back to staring out at the skyline, still sparkling with lights despite the wee hours. The bay beyond did too, the water glistening. And it was quiet, save for some distant traffic and the coos of pigeons roosting somewhere close by. The low hum of electricity traveling along the dozens of wires crisscrossing overhead. It was beautiful. Not in the way the North was, but beautiful all the same.

He tilted his head back and looked up. A wreath of soft hazy orange glowed around them, but past it the stars were still in the sky, sprinkled about, flickering and faint. 

Dany gently bumped his side with hers. “You alright? You're looking at those stars like you’ve never seen them before.”

“Aye. I'm good,” he answered, because he was. For once. It wouldn't last, but he’d enjoy it while it did. “It's just been awhile.”

“Yeah, the city isn't the best place for stargazing.”

He’d have to tell her that wasn't it. But not yet. “Thank you,” he offered instead.

“What for?”

“Bringing me up here.” He finally tore his eyes from the sky and looked at her. Her face was turned up to his, gorgeous and soft, and he managed a smile. “I like big open spaces. Seeing the sky. The stars. The moon.”

It was fat and bright above them, a shiny, just pressed silver coin laid in black velvet. She looked all the more ethereal in its light. He wanted to kiss her again. He didn't. 

He took in their immediate surroundings and decided the low wall around the edge was as good a place as any to spill secrets and wandered over and lowered himself down. Leaned back against it and drew his knees up as Dany came over to join him. He held a hand out to help her down. She took it and didn't let go. 

His heart picked up its pace as she got settled beside him, the solid _thump, thump, thump,_ battering his sternum. She'd crossed her legs and her knee wound up resting on his thigh. It burned. Another live wire sending electricity through his every nerve just as her hand was. He left his own where it was and passed her the whiskey with the other. 

“You already done?” she asked. 

“Been a long time since I had any, better go slow so I don't mess around and fall off this buildin’.”

She chuffed. “We can't have that.”

A silence fell over them and they became just a guy and a girl sitting there side by side, in the cold, damp night air, their clasped hands laying in her lap. It was surreal. Something he never dreamed possible. Together with the quiet he usually loved, it had him unnerved, his stomach tied in squirming knots. Heart jittery. He felt fifteen again. Scared to fucking death, yet more calm than he had in longer than he could remember. 

_A restful excitement maybe? Was there even such a thing?_

“So who's spillin’ secrets first?” he finally forced himself to ask, needing the conversation to start before he bolted and ran. 

“You,” she popped off. “How long’s it been?”

“What?”

“Since you snogged a girl.”

He cut her a look. _“That's_ what we're startin’ with?” 

She shrugged. “Good as anything else, isn't it?” 

He supposed, but still. “Why though?”

Her other hand fretted with her jeans, picking at the frayed edges of the tear over her knee. “Down in the loft… You were… _Intense.”_ Those big eyes were suddenly staring into his. “Great, but intense.”

He had to look away. “Sorry.”

She gave his hand a squeeze and leaned in close. So close he felt her warm breath against his cheek. “I wasn't complaining,” she murmured. “Quite the opposite.” Her impossibly soft lips pressed a kiss to his temple and then she was gone, the cold air sliding in to take her place.

He needed it though, to cool the flames heating his face, and every other inch of him. “It's been awhile,” he managed in a thick husk and reached over her, grabbed the bottle of whiskey and took another shot.

She was grinning at him when he sat it back down in front of her. “How long’s a while?” 

“Does it matter?” he asked, swiping a hand over his mouth.

“No, just curious.”

Shaking his head he pulled his pack of smokes out of his hoodie pocket, the cellophane crinkling loud in the quiet. Dany let his hand go and he cursed his nerves. But the damage was done so he lit one and took a long pull. Added a cloud of smoke to the haziness they sat in.

_No more secrets._

“Almost seven years.”

She gasped, all of her pulling away as she looked at him, gaping as if he had two heads. “I don't believe it. A guy as hot as you?”

He snorted and sneered. “I'm not hot.”

“Oh, yes you are,” she declared, with such insistence one might’ve thought she was speaking of some law that could never be disputed. “No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“And you're sloshed.”

“I am not,” she denied. And she wasn't. He knew she wasn't even close to sloshed. Unless she’d had some when he wasn't looking she’d only had the one shot down in the bar. “Even if I was, that wouldn't mean you aren't hot. Or beautiful.” She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. _Maybe she was sloshed._ “Missy says so, and she's always right.”

_Gods save him. That was a terrifying thing to think about._

“You and Missy talk about what I look like?” 

She nodded, eyes bulging. “All the time, among other things,” she admitted with a girlish giggle he’d never heard from her before. 

He laughed despite himself, mostly out of embarrassment. “Piss off.”

“Piss off yourself,” she laughed right back. “Like you and Gen don't talk about me.”

That didn't sit well with him. At all. He turned a frown on her, shaking his head. “Not since the first day. Not about what you look like.” She deserved better than that. 

“Am I not hot enough for you?” she pondered, surprised and maybe a bit put out. 

If she'd slapped him, he wouldn't have been more stunned. _How could she possibly think…_ “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The words were out before he could stop them, but he didn't care. She ducked her head, eyes firmly on the ground, a wave of silver silk hiding her from him. Unable to stop himself he gently brushed it away and tucked it behind her ear just as he’d done while she slept on his lap. She was smiling. A soft, sweet thing and he wished they were sitting in the sun so he could see her better. He let his hand fall away and her eyes flicked to his. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.

If he wound up back in his cage, he'd remember it. That smile. Could soothe himself with the memory of it. That he'd been the one to put it there.

He swallowed hard and looked back up at the sky. “You're welcome,” he returned, wincing at how rough and husky his voice had sounded. He sucked hard on his smoke, blew another stream up into the air. Flicked the ash away.

“Can I ask why?”

His eyes fell closed. Of course she would ask, that was the whole point of them coming up there. To talk about their _shitty lives._ Spill their secrets. He’d made that choice, willingly. _But how the fuck was he supposed to tell her when it was the last fucking thing he wanted to do?_

“Haven't had much chance to be sociable,” he landed on, cowardly as it was.

“Because?”

He cut her another look, forcing a smirk. “You're fuckin’ nosy, you know that?”

She laughed and it was the most glorious sound he’d ever heard. “Moving on then. How old are you?”

“Twenty two. You?”

“I’ll be the same next month.”

“When's your nameday?”

“When's yours?”

“December second.”

Her face turned down into a pretty pout. “I missed it.”

“S’alright. Just another day. When's yours?

“March fifteenth.” She bumped him three or four times with her elbow, grinning. “You going to buy me some sweets from Bessie?”

He bit back a laugh and a smile, instead shaking his head with a serious expression that had her face falling. Once she appeared properly dejected, he smirked. “I'm gonna buy you a fuckin’ sweater I can't see through.”

The gauzy one she was wearing had made his night even more hellish. It hid nothing, the fancy bra-like top beneath it easily seen, the pale skin of her back, stomach, and shoulders shining through. He was relieved it was dark now that she was so close, and for his jacket he’d insisted she put on once he realized where she was taking them. 

If it hadn't been so dark he thought he might've seen her blush. “Sorry about that,” she laughed softly.

“No, you're not.”

Another laugh. Another memory to lock away for later. “You’re right, but what else is a girl supposed to do when a guy won't take a hint?” she asked with a cheeky grin as she turned the whiskey up and took a swallow or two. He watched her throat work in the glow of the moon, her wet tongue slip out and slowly lick her plump lips clean before setting the bottle back down. 

_Bloody hells._

She was going to kill him and he was pretty sure he was going to be happy about it. 

“Think we’ve already covered that bit,” he muttered and shifted about, pulling at his jeans, the hard, cold grit of the roof numbing and irritating his arse already. At least that's what he was going to blame his discomfort on. 

“Yes, Mister Noble, we have.” 

She made adjustments of her own once he was settled, leaning into his side, a scorching brand burning him from shoulder to knee. He wanted to lift his arm up and let her sink into him further, let her heat seap in and maybe thaw him out, but he knew if he did he’d have her in his lap before he could stop himself.

“So, if it's been six years and you're twenty two that means…” she trailed off and his hackles rose, knowing exactly what she was insinuating.

“I'm not a virgin,” he grumbled. “I know where to put it.”

Her incredible laughter erupted, a fountain of silver bells that filled the quiet with joy. The pigeons rustled from their roost and flew off, coos loud and loathsome. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, she was laughing so hard. He could see them glinting in the moonlight. She was barely breathing. Clutching at her sides. If he hadn't been half knackered he probably would've gotten a bit hot, but as it was he couldn't help but laugh right along with her until his eyes were wet, too. 

Only soon enough his tears had changed. _Fucking whiskey._ He always cried when he was drunk. 

He thanked the gods it was dark, and swiped them away with a rough hand. His quick sniff hopefully hidden with another bark of laughter. 

It had been Arya's tenth birthday the last time he’d laughed so hard. He and Robb had smashed her face into her cake and it had turned into an all out food fight that even Ned had participated in. Catelyn had been livid. It was one of the happiest days he could ever remember. 

Half of them were dead two weeks later.

The memory of that awful day slammed into him like a hundred fists and knives at once. The cops showing up at his job, their stoic expressions sending dread splintering through him before the horrible words even spilled from their mouths. He could still hear the officer's voice. Low and careful, slow. Like he was speaking to a small child.

_We're sorry, son. Your family was in an accident. They’re gone. Do you understand? None of them made it._

The utter overwhelming panic. The numb ride to the station that followed. Arya and Sansa running to him the moment he walked in, screaming his name, their faces streaked red, eyes swollen. Their gut wrenching sobs as he held them where they’d all collapsed into a huddle on the floor. 

Picking Rickon up from his friend's, forcing a smile for him. Carrying him out to the police car as he fought to hide his tears, keep his voice from cracking when his little brother wanted to know; _why didn't Daddy pick me up like he was_ _s’pose to?_

Laying in bed that night with all three of them having cried themselves into exhausted fitful sleep on top of him. A grief and helplessness he never knew possible crushing him. His father gone. Robb. Bran. Even Catelyn. His little brother and sisters depending on him and him alone. Not knowing how he was going to take care of them, but knowing he had to. He was all they had. And he wasn't enough.

He shoved himself to his feet and was at the opposite corner of the roof a breath later, leaning over the edge, braced on his hands. Swaying, his stomach threatening to turn itself inside out. Sweat pouring. He was on his third deep breath when a hand slowly slid up his spine. 

Dany turned him towards her and reached for the zipper of his hoodie. “How about we get this off? Cool down a little.”

He let her do what she wanted without an answer and she gently pushed it off his shoulders and freed his arms one at a time. The cold air wrapping around him was a blessed relief and the nausea eased a fraction. Next he knew, she was behind him, her hands in his hair, gathering it up off his neck. A hot rush had his eyes burning again. He squeezed them shut, swallowed thickly and forced himself to keep breathing. To be still and not run. To let her help him. 

“I’m sorry I upset you,” she whispered from over his shoulder.

He shook his head and instantly regretted it, the world spinning. He braced himself on the wall again. “Wasn't you,” he breathed, the shame of falling apart in front of her nearly as crushing as the memories themselves. 

She moved to his side and sat against the wall facing him. Her hand wrapped softly over his and she just sat there, quiet and calm, watching the city around them. He slipped his thumb over hers and worked on gathering himself back together. 

The night crept on, how much of it he wasn't sure, but the nausea finally passed. The sweat dried and left him chilled. And the ache in his chest eased enough he could breathe again. 

He turned around and slid down the wall, leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Dany draped his hoodie over him and he grabbed her hand before she could straighten back up. “Sit down here with me, you're making me nervous up there.” 

Without a word she did as he’d asked and he got himself back in his hoodie. “Better?” she whispered.

“Yeah, sorry.”

Her hand cupped his thigh, ran up to his knee and back down in a gentle sweep. “You didn't do anything wrong, Jon.” 

He could only give a nod as he closed his eyes and found another cigarette to give his hands and mouth something to do that didn't involve blubbering like a fool. 

“I’ll wait… until you're ready, okay?” she told him softly. 

He rolled his head toward her. Took in her soft features in the moonlight. She was so beautiful it hurt. Deep in his chest. It was an ache he’d gladly trade for the usual one that resided there. “I’m trying,” was all he could get out, the words nothing but a rough croak. But it was a promise to her, and himself. He hoped. 

“I know,” she assured him, his thigh getting another rub. “Why don't you ask me something for now?”

Her patience and understanding was so foreign to him. Her care. All things he hadn't known in far too long. He didn't quite know what to do with them. Only one thing came to his mind as he sat there staring at her, something he needed to know for some reason he couldn't settle on. “Has anyone ever been really good to you?”

“My father and my aunt,” she answered easily, though there was not an ounce of emotion to it. A fact and nothing more from the sound of it.

“No one else?”

Her eyes flicked to his. A tiny curve hooked one corner of her mouth. “You.”

He chuffed and gave a shake of his head. “That’s not what I meant. We’ve only known each other two weeks.”

“And you’ve been good to me for all of them.”

He supposed she had him there but it felt off. He never did anyone any good. Not in the end. There had to be someone else. Surely. “What about Gendry and Grey? Missandei?” he asked, scratching at his neck.

She nodded, her bottom lip trapped between her teeth as she turned to pick at her jeans again. It was odd to see her fidgeting, she was always so self-assured, bold and brassy. Absolutely fucking fearless. He’d suspected it was just a defense mechanism, walls thicker and stronger than even his own, but seeing them begin to fall when he felt so vulnerable himself had him all mixed up. He could barely keep his own head above water from one minute to the next, from drowning beneath it all. From giving in to the demons who were constantly clawing at him, dragging him down, choking him. It terrified him she might be the same, but it also made him feel not quite so broken. 

“They're good to me,” she finally answered, “and I love them for it. They're my best friends… but, it's not the same, is it?” she asked, meeting his gaze again. 

If she was hoping for an answer he wasn't sure he had one. He brought his smoke back to his lips and sucked down the soothing burn. “Same as what, exactly?”

Instead of answering she reached up and gently clamped his cigarette between her fingers. “Can I?”

At his miniscule nod she slipped it free from his grasp and he watched her take a slow pull, the sight sexier than seeing her sip whiskey. Everything she did was fucking sexy though. He was so fucking gone on her. He’d probably get hard watching her do math. 

A stream of smoke left her lips. She licked them. Tilted her head back against the wall and looked up at the sky above.

“I want someone just for me. That _knows_ me. All of me. And I want to be enough for them.” She looked his way again and he couldn't even begin to form a response, only gape at her. “Isn’t that what we all want?” she wondered. “For someone to know everything, the good, the bad, the boring, and despite it all they still choose us?”

For a long agonizing moment Jon couldn't breathe, everything within him grinding to a halt and exploding all at once at her words. It felt as if she'd just reached inside his chest and took hold of his cold heart with her burning hand and broke it open. Freed all the things hidden inside it. It was like dying and being shocked back to life in an instant. He knew. He’d felt both. 

Her hand was still on his thigh, he covered it with his own and she latched on to it. He did the same to hers. Neither of them managed a word for quite awhile. Only passed the whiskey back and forth for a few more sips each. He’d had enough he barely felt the burn of it going down anymore.

The silence between them wasn't awkward for once. It was probably because he was well on his way to pissed, but it actually felt peaceful, warm and calm. He wanted to stay there, just as they were. To just stop time. Some might call him a fool for not wanting something different for eternity. Yeah, he wanted all the rest, but right then… Knowing she _knew._ She knew just like he did. Wanted what he did. And she might actually fucking want it with him. That was enough. More than he thought he'd ever have.

More than he deserved.

He forced a few words past the knot in his throat before the silence could get uncomfortable. “I don't know how anyone could ever think you're not enough.”

“Because you don't know me,” she muttered and flicked his cigarette butt away with deft fingers. It glowed, waxing and waning in the darkness as it continued to burn a yard or so from them. 

For some reason that tiny fire still flickering in the emptiness gave him a rush of courage.

“I want to.”

Dany turned and stared at him with those incredible eyes until he swore she was stealing all the air between them, until his heartbeat was nothing but a roar in his ears, until every inch of him felt as if he might fly apart. 

Small, soft hands cupped his face. Her dizzying scent filled his head. And she leaned in, all the space between them gone. “I want you to,” she breathed, her lips a whisper against his. 

He fell. She was a wave pulling him under and he no longer had the strength to fight against her tide. She was too soft, too warm, too _everything._ He needed her, wanted her too deeply to do anything else but kiss her back. Fingers delving into her hair, lips tasting hers. Whiskey and smoke and the sweetness beneath. He was starved and she was the only thing that would fill the empty ache. 

Much to his disappointment she pulled away first, gasping for air, his hoodie clenched in her hands, her forehead pressed to his. He would've happily died from lack of oxygen, but if living gave him more time with her, he had no right to complain. He worked to catch his breath, wholly intending to lose it all again. 

“You weren't part of the plan,” she breathed out before he could.

He drew back with a scowl, his heart giving a stuttering flip. “What plan?”

“My plan.”

His stomach was twisting again. And not in a pleasant way. “And what was that?” he asked, already dreading the answer.

“To be happy alone. To not need anyone but me. Now you’ve come along and mucked it all up.”

If she hadn't been smiling at him he might've been more than a little angry. He let her go regardless, feeling sick. He was on his feet again without thought, unsteady though they were. “I told you, we don't need to do this. Especially if you don't want—”

“I’m not saying that at all,” Dany cut over him, having chased him down and stepped in front of him, her eyebrows twisted up. She was either pissed or confused. Or just drunk. Probably all three. She grabbed his arm. Shook it. “Do you really think we can stop this? Knowing we both want it? You might be a masochist, Jon Snow, but I'm not.”

He snorted and dropped his head back. The world spun a bit and he swayed on his feet, but thankfully a quick shift kept him stable. He drew in a breath to gather some calm before letting her glare at him some more. She'd let him go, her arms crossed over herself. If he was a betting man he’d say it had nothing to do with the cold. He shoved his hands into his pockets and shook his head. “I’m not a masochist by choice, Dany,” he told her with a shrug, “just seems to be my lot in life.”

The furrow between her brows deepened and she took a step closer. So close her arms pressed into his stomach. Then her hands slid around his sides, slipping between his hoodie and his shirt, her thumbs slowly brushing along his ribs. The fabric was so thin it felt as if nothing separated them, her touch setting him on fire. 

“Maybe your lot is changing,” she said quietly. 

_Something_ was changing. Every bit of fortitude he possessed seemed to be melting away at any rate. The warning bells were still going off, but they were faint and muffled down in the hole he was digging for himself. It was growing deeper and deeper every moment he spent with her too.

His hands were no longer shoved in his pockets, but at her face. One brushing her pale hair behind her ear, the other cupping her neck, his thumb skimming along her jaw. Only the softness they felt, the heat beneath them, had him believing they were even his. She still seemed more dream than reality. 

“I think you’ve got more faith than I do,” he husked out.

“Faith in myself maybe. I’m not letting him take this from me,” she said, her words as hard as the iron bars he’d been locked behind for years. “I'm not a scared little girl anymore.”

No, she certainly wasn't. “I can't imagine you ever being scared.”

“I was,” she admitted. “For a long time.” 

Her eyes fell away from his, one of her hands coming up to his chest, fingers picking at the edges of the lettering on his shirt. They were curled and cracked with age. He watched her, filled with a familiar feeling. He had denied himself the repeated urge to hold her again and again, but it wasn't just himself he’d made suffer. He’d denied her, too. Denied her comfort. Understanding. Some simple care. All things he’d ached to have for so long. Whether he deserved them or not, he knew she did. 

Giving in was easier than breathing. His arms pulled her close, wrapped around her as if they'd done it a thousand times before. Hands palming her head and spreading across her back. She melted into him, and him into her. The feel of her against him and around him more perfect than he could’ve imagined. The heat of her alone… 

_Gods,_ he never wanted to fucking let go.

As tight as her arms held him he thought she might be feeling the same. She inhaled, sudden and deep, and pressed her face into his chest, his shirt fisted in her hands. He probably smelled like sweat and stale beer, but to him, his nose buried in her hair, she smelled like a little explosion of spring and hope, and everything sweet. It swirled in his head, had it spinning. He wanted to drown. To just fall in and never come out.

“You know what it's like, don't you?” she asked, her voice barely there. “Being afraid.”

His heart sank. The glossy bubble of contentment too fragile to stay, popping, disappearing in an instant. He wished he could erase all the bad for both of them. Find some way for them to start fresh. Free of all the demons and devils. But that was a waste of time. Time better spent in other ways. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and held her tighter. “Aye. I wish you didn't.”

He got a squeeze back and she tucked her face into his neck, her breath warming his skin. The warmth spread, down his chest and stomach, and further still. He’d probably just combust and turn to ash if he ever got her bare skin on his. 

“Maybe it's like they say, it makes us stronger.” 

He couldn't help it. He pulled away and she peered up at him in question. He answered with a dubious look, his eyebrows twisted tight. Surely she’d been teasing. Her sweet laughter rumbled through her chest into his. “Yeah, it's a load of horse shit, right?”

Despite himself, Jon smiled. “Complete horse shit. I figure I’m one step away from breakin’ every minute of every day,” he confessed. Unable to hold onto his smile, he let it slip away. “Just a matter of time before the next hit.”

“Yeah,” she whispered and laid her head over his heart.

He slid his fingers into her hair, comforting them both he hoped. “My brother and sisters… they're the only reason I’ve bothered to keep breathin’.”

“Ending him is why I do.”

The need to know what her uncle had done was like a wild vine growing in him, strong and clinging, choking. But she wasn't pushing him to dump his demons out so he’d let her take her time. He was certain it would come. And he wasn't wrong.

“I'm pretty sure he had my father killed when I was thirteen. Forced me to marry at fourteen.”

Horror rocked through him, a sledgehammer to the chest. “Wait, what?” he spat, stepping back and staring at her in shock and disgust. Killing her father was enough but... _“Fourteen?”_

She nodded as if it were nothing. Literally nothing. Like she was agreeing it was a nice day. He had the sudden urge to throw up. 

“You know the guys who brought you in?” she asked, but didn't wait for his answer. “They're Dothraki. They’re my husband's family.” She pulled a face and shook her head. _“Were,_ are, whatever.” Jon couldn't do anything but continue to stare at her like a gaping fool as she prattled on. “They're Aerys' family, too. Half of it anyway. His father's half. His mother was a Targaryen. My grandfather's little sister. So the King is actually my aunt's first cousin.”

He just blinked at her, trying to take it all in. Boggled by her calm and indifference when a disturbing reality was taking hold of him. 

Dany gave a sardonic grin and a roll of her eyes. “Yeah, so now you know the Targaryen dirty secret. We're a bit incestuous. Still interested?” she quipped.

Stuck a bit further back he gave a harsh shake of his head and held a hand up. “If his mother was the Targaryen…”

“How's he a Targaryen?” He nodded. “Because my grandfather made him one. When he forced Aunt Rhaella to marry him.”

Thank gods she finally showed some emotion with that one, a bit of disgust. He was beginning to worry. He scrubbed at his face, the whiskey settling in and making it numb. “Sorry for sayin’ so, but I don't think I would've liked your grandfather,” he muttered.

Dany laughed and wandered over to the edge of the building again. Propped up on her forearms and gazed out at the city. He joined her and sent a wince of apology her way. She waved a dismissive hand at him. “Don't worry, I’m not offended. From what I understand, no one liked him. Except Aerys.”

“Does he look like them? The Dothraki?”

“Aerys? No. He's like us. Like his mother. Pale and,” she stuck her hands up and made air quotes, “perfect.”

He made a face, one he hoped she didn't take offense to. She was perfect all right, her aunt and father too from what little he’d seen, but Viserys… He was more poisonous than perfect. Jon had a feeling he took after his uncle. His grandfather too from the sound of it.

“They were afraid of him,” she said.

“Sorry, what?”

“The Dothraki, of Aerys, when he was born,” she explained. “They're different. Even though so many of them live here now they’ve kept their old ways, done their best to keep to themselves. No outsiders. Even these days they aren't comfortable going outside the family for anything. Back then…” She snarled her nose. “It was worse. Just our coloring was enough to spook them. They're dark. Targs are light. They had barely accepted his mother. When he came out looking like her, they shunned him. All three of them. Said they were cursed.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I don't think they were wrong.”

Jon laughed with her, but it all sounded too familiar for his liking. Catelyn had done nothing but shun him, and not one day had gone by in the last seven years when he hadn't felt cursed. Not to mention most of the fifteen before that. The last thing he wanted was to have something in common with Aerys though. 

Maybe it was just cursed souls drew in more of the same. It made as much sense as anything else in his fucked up world did. 

Dany shifted and caught his attention again. “From what I understand they were forced to live on the outskirts of the clan or whatever you want to call it,” she went on. “My grandfather had apparently been keeping track of them, tried to talk his sister into coming home, but she refused. She hated him. They got by somehow, but her and her husband both died of a fever when Aerys was ten or so. As soon as my grandfather found out he went and picked up Aerys himself and brought him home. Aunt Rhaella said things were fine at first. Aerys was terribly quiet, but did everything he was told no matter what that was.”

“That sounds ominous.”

She didn't respond for a while, biting at her lips, staring off into the distance with a pinched brow. He was about to apologise for prodding when she straightened and turned towards him, a hip leaned against the edge and her arms crossed. 

“I never knew him, only heard stories, but all of them claimed my grandfather was a monster. Maegor the Cruel. That's what they called him.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.”

She went quiet again and he pulled out another smoke and lit it, the rough scrape and snap of his lighter filling the silence, the flame sparking to life before dancing bright in his eyes. Dany watched him from the darkness beyond it, face alight in the orange glow, the smallest of smiles in her eyes. He let the flame linger just so he could see her for a little longer. But longer became too long, the cigarette was burning down. He pulled it from his lips and passed it over to her. She took it with a murmur of thanks and he lit a second for himself, and waited. Let her have the time she obviously needed while working to gather his courage for his turn in case she was done. It was the least he owed her for spilling her secrets.

“He didn't even like his own kids,” she said suddenly with a scoff and a rough flick of ash. “Apparently Aunt Rhaella and my father— his name was Rhaegar by the way. They're twins.” She flapped a hand at the air. “Were twins.” Another drag from her cigarette was pulled in and blown out. She crossed her arms again with a sigh. “Anyway, they were _spoiled and soft._ My grandfather’s words, mind you. They’d spent too much time under their mother’s skirts to be worth anything,” she mocked with a sneer, took another pull and blew it out. Gave a shrug. “So he took Aerys under his wing instead, and never tried to get on with either of them again. Especially my dad. Aunt Ella said Grandfather thought he was too weak for the business. That he would ruin all he’d worked to build, destroy it. But Aerys wouldn't. Aerys wanted it. _Appreciated_ it. When my grandmother died— she the only buffer Aunt Ella had from her father, he forced her to marry Aerys and proudly gave him his new name. Dad was basically disowned.”

“He sounds like a real peach,” he offered in condolence.

“Yeah, and Aerys is just like him,” she muttered, a sharp edge of hatred easily heard in the declaration.

It filled Jon with dread. He wanted to know what the bastard had done to her, but at the same time it was the last thing he wanted to hear. Keeping his own demons contained wouldn't be easy if he’d physically hurt her. He didn't need another excuse to see the King’s blood on his hands. He already had plenty.

Dany finished her cigarette and sent it off the edge. Let it drift from her fingers and watched it make the slow fall. “They were married ten years before I came along. Dad had gone his own way. To Essos. Met my mother. Fell in love, had Viserys. They were happy and at peace until I was born. My mother died. Bled to death before I was even an hour old.” 

Once again there was no emotion in her words, no rise or fall, just a dull drone. It wasn't apathy he realized, but grief disguised as such. He should've known, he did it enough himself.

“I'm sorry.”

She glanced up and gave him a look he knew well. That empty smile of gratitude one gives for empty condolences. Not that his words had been the least bit empty, but she didn't know that. “Can't miss what you never had, right?” she asked with a chuff and turned away, fretful fingers at her mouth, running across her lip, teeth biting down. 

“Wrong,” he countered gently. It stopped her fidgeting as he expected it would. She blinked and gave him a scowl, her head tilted. He dropped his smoke to his side as he licked at his lips. Swallowed down that old familiar knot with ease. It was as worn as smooth as a worry stone kept in the lint filled pocket of a favorite jacket. He gave her the same smile she’d given him. “My mom didn’t survive me either.”

Her beautiful face fell into a mask of sadness and his hand was caught up in hers and brought to her lips. He was sure she wanted to say something, but she knew as well as he did, there was nothing to say. She kissed his knuckles and he brushed them over her cheek the moment she eased her grip. 

They fell quiet for a time. Dany tucked herself under his arm, her own around his waist. He rubbed at her thin shoulder beneath his leather coat and finished off his smoke. The pigeons came back to roost, their feathers fluttering, coos warbling softly. Along with the whiskey it all made him sleepy and he wondered how hard it would be to convince her to go back down to the loft and crawl onto his mattress together. They could sleep till noon. He could cook her some eggs for breakfast, or maybe go to the bakery for lemon honey sweet rolls. He needed to try one, just so he’d know what her favorite tasted like.

“A part of Viserys has always hated me. For her dying.” 

Her words had the same effect on him as a blast of cold water from the hose at the Wall did. He was instantly vibrating with fury. “It wasn't your fault,” he protested, harshly. 

She looked up and met his fierce glare. So much calmer than him. Her smile was pained, but it held her heart. “It wasn't yours either.”

It took him a moment to work out what she meant and a wave of shame washed through him. “I know.” He sighed and shoved himself to his feet, gently letting her go and stuffing his hands back in his pockets before shuffling off. His nerves were making another appearance, the need to move too strong to fight despite the generous dose of alcohol he’d had. He tore his hoodie off, feeling suffocated and sweaty. 

“Jon?”

“Feels like it sometimes though, doesn't it?” he threw back at her over his shoulder. “Like maybe all the shit’s my fault. Like I’m tainted. A bad seed that ruins the whole fuckin’ patch.” 

He heard her draw in a breath. She held it for a long moment then slowly let it go. “Yeah, I’m familiar with that.”

Jon was suddenly raging at the world again. His list against it was long, but it deserved to burn for ever making her feel that way alone. He spun around, unable to keep a grip on it. “You shouldn't be,” he snapped even though she was the last person he was angry with.

She came right back at him. “And you should?”

“We're not talkin’ about me.”

With slow, sauntering steps she closed the distance between them. Her hands slid around his sides again, her beautiful face tipped back to look at him. “I kinda feel like we are. Like we’ve got a lot more in common than I thought.”

And just like that she doused his temper. He wrapped her in another hug, the fucking whiskey making his eyes burn again. “I don't want you to have anythin’ in common with me, Dany. Not like that.”

“I know, I don't like knowing you’ve dealt with it either, but—”

It hit him so fast he had no warning, but thank the gods he got himself turned around in time. Maybe he kept the worst of it off her shoes. He quickly decided puking one’s guts up on a diet of pure whiskey and cigarettes wasn't a good time. His insides were being torched by liquid flame with each torturous heave.

He was vaguely aware of Dany hovering at his side. Her hands running over his back while she murmured pitying words. Eventually there was nothing left to give and he spent the next few minutes catching his breath and trying to spit the horrid bile out, not that it did much good.

_Fucking hells. No more godsdamn whiskey._

“Gods, Jon. I'm sorry,” she cooed as he finally straightened up. He motioned toward his hoodie laying behind her and she caught on quick, grabbing it up and handing it to him. Winced as he used one sleeve to wipe his mouth and the other the sweat from his face. “You meant it when you said you hadn't drank in awhile, huh?” 

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah.”

“We need to get you inside. Get some food and water in you.”

Just hearing about putting something in his stomach made him want to wretch again, but he stumbled his way toward the fire escape anyway. Water might be good.

“Hold on!” Dany shrieked and yanked at the back of his shirt. “I'm going first, maybe I can stop your fall when it happens.”

“I won't fall,” he argued and reached for the railing. He missed. Dany laughed and pushed him backwards, but kept a firm hold of his belt loops. He froze. Panic and lust grabbing him at once. “What’re you doin’?”

She grinned up at him and tugged him with her as she took the first step. “Helping you down.”

The panic drew into the lead. He grabbed her arm. “But you’ll fall going backwards. You're as drunk as me.” 

Her laughter erupted and he found himself smiling. “I’m nowhere near as pissed as you, Jon Snow. I think I could drink your pretty ass under the table.”

She tugged on his belt loops again and he followed, a pup on a leash. “I love your laugh. Did you know that?”

He got to hear it again and it made him happier than he remembered being in a long time. “No, I didn't,” she said, “but thank you. Yours is nice too, you should do it more often.”

“I don't laugh much. But I’ll try for you.”

Dany was suddenly on the same step as him. He stumbled back and fell on his arse, but it didn't stop her. She kissed him, a soft one pressed to his cheek. 

“What was that for?” he asked dumbly and slapped himself in an attempt to rub his cheek.

She just smiled at him. “I thought you needed one.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. Now come on, let's get you inside. _Slowly,”_ she warned as he popped up again.

He couldn't say how, but they made it back in the loft. Dany pushed him down onto his couch and told him to stay there. He obeyed, his head dropped back and his eyes closed. She moved around, little noises here and there, doing what he hadn't a clue, he was too tired to care. And it was nice, to know she was there, whatever she was doing. She came back soon enough, jostled him as she sat down beside him. 

He cracked his eyes open to see she had her hands full. A glass of water with two pieces of toast balanced on top in one and an empty glass, his mouthwash and toothbrush in the other. She passed him the latter first.

“Thanks.”

He gargled and brushed, swished and spit first, then swapped with her, taking the toast and water. His stomach protested immediately at the sight of them, but he forced them down anyway in slow bites and sips. Dany watched him for the first few then went and got some of her own. They ate in another comfortable silence.

“Sorry I didn't let you finish,” he apologized. 

“Finish what?”

“Tellin’ me about your shitty life.”

She gave a soft chuff and ran her fingers into his hair. Tucked some behind his ear. His eyes fell closed. “It can wait.”

“If you want to.”

“I think you're falling asleep on me anyway.”

His eyes popped open and he sat up, elbows on his knees, hands scrubbing at his face. “I’m awake. Just… Maybe no more whiskey.”

At her responding chuckle he dropped his hands between his knees and looked over at her, his face flushed hot. “Sorry about that by the way.” He dared a glance at her shoes, her jeans. 

She gave his shoulder a light shove. “You didn't get me, don't worry. And I should be the one apologizing. It was my idea, remember?”

He grinned. “It was, wasn't it?”

She scrunched her nose and the next thing he knew her head was in his lap. “This okay?” she asked, blinking up at him with her big doe eyes. 

He could only nod, his hands hanging in the air, uncertain where to put them. It’d been one thing to have her there asleep, it was quite another to see her there awake, and on purpose. 

“I don't know where I left off, do you?”

He laid his head back again, hoping she’d believe it was so he could think and not what it really was—his feeble attempt to keep himself in check. “Ummm… Maybe Vis? Being a shit brother.”

_So much for keeping all of himself in check._

Dany laughed again though and took his hovering hand in both of hers and laid them on her stomach, just below her breast. Just an inch more and—

_You're a right bloody wanker is what._

He shifted their hands down a bit, rubbing his thumb over hers to cover his tracks as he laid his head back again. _Out of sight, out of mind maybe?_

“You really don't like him, do you?”

“No, I really don't.”

His hand vibrated with her responding laughter and he forced his head up and gazed down at her. “I'm sorry,” she said, solemn and soft.

Jon was stone cold sober in an instant. “Don’t apologize for him. I heard enough to know you asked for the opposite of what you got. There's no excuse for how he was treatin’ you. None.”

His anger didn't seem to bother her. She gave a soft sigh as she dropped her eyes to their entwined fingers. “I know.” She picked his hand up and slowly traced over the calluses on his palm with her thumb. “I know he's a piece of shit, but he's blood, and that's just the way things are. Every man that has ever supposedly loved me has been the same.”

While he wanted nothing more than to hunt Viserys down then and there, and whoever else had dared laid hands on her, he shoved his fury aside and brushed her hair back with gentle fingers. Her eyes shot to his just as he hoped. “Whatever happens, whatever this is we’re doin’, Dany… My hands will never hurt you. Never touch you in anger.”

She smiled, just a small thing, and brought his fingers around to her lips and kissed them. “I know that too.” 

They stared at each other for what felt like an age and with the whiskey still swirling through his blood he was warm and content. Wanted nothing more than to gather Dany up and hold her, kiss her until the sun rose. Forget about the demons at their backs. 

She reached up and scraped her nails through his beard. “I’m going to finish my story now, okay?” she whispered.

He really didn't want her to, but he didn't argue. “Okay.”

She settled into him deeper, face turned into his stomach, his hand still held by hers. He couldn't keep his other one from running through her hair. She didn't complain, so he didn't stop. 

“Dad was a widow, with two kids. Me just a baby. He did as well as he could for as long as he could, but he needed help and his sister was all he had left so he brought us back here. Aunt Rhaella’s the only mother I’ve ever known, and Vis and I are the only children she has. She lost five of her own before she finally refused Aerys’ demands to keep trying. Me and Viserys would inherit and continue the family, she told him. I think it's the only thing he never punished her for.”

He probably shouldn't have been shocked, but he was. _“Punished her?_ What the fuck does that mean?”

She glanced up at him, her eyes glowing like a low flame. “I told you. He’s a monster. He’s beat her more times than I can count, raped her.”

“How the bloody fuck is he not behind bars?”

She shrugged. “Because he's the King. No one goes against him. They wind up dead if they do.”

Well that made him feel all rosy and bright. But maybe it would be better to know what death would look like when it came for you, instead of shadowed faces and disembodied voices wielding their knives.

“Might as well go out with a bang, huh?” he quipped.

“Me and you?”

“Yeah.”

“We might, but I don't plan on anyone dying but him.”

She said it with such assurance, such vehemence it sent a wave of fear through him. He cupped her cheek, gently held her still. “What did he do to you, Dany?”

“Well, first he sent my father off on a business trip that he didn't come home alive from. And a few months later, he beat my aunt into a coma and threatened to finish the job if I didn't marry a man twice my age.”

A vicious curse tore free beyond his control and if she hadn't been in his lap Jon would've been pacing the floors. Planning a suicide mission no doubt. But a soft sniff had him looking down at her again and he caught her wiping away a single tear. 

Heart aching, he slid his hand around her jaw and tilted her face up to his. “Dany, you don't have to do this,” he whispered.

She looked grateful for the sentiment, but shook her head anyway and sat up, curling herself into a ball at his side. “I asked you to trust me. How can I expect you to do that, if I don't trust you?”

While it made logical sense, it also went against his grain. “I don't need you to—” he scrubbed a hand down his face, searching for the right words, not sure they existed, “I don't want you to hurt just so I’ll know,” he landed on. “I don't _have_ to know. I already told you before we went up to the roof…” He wrapped his hand around her calf and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I trust you.”

She seemed to consider it. Chewed on her lip, fingers picking at her jeans, her gaze locked on them. “But if I need to tell you, are you alright with that?”

He put his hand other hand over hers and waited for her eyes to meet his. It took a moment, but they finally did. “I'm right here.” 

Pulling her lips between her teeth, she latched onto his fingers and gave a nod. He turned towards her and got as comfortable as he could. Tried to brace himself for what was coming, to be what she needed. Not to fuck up and make things worse.

She plucked her whiskey tumbler off the table and took a deep drink, sat it back down and licked her lips. Drew in a heavy breath and slowly blew it out. “I think my life was fairly normal once we moved back,” she started. “At least I thought so. We lived with them. Their house is huge, five families could live in it. Dad worked for Aerys, returned to the fold so to speak. Me and Vis went to school. Aunt Ella took care of us.” A wistful smile lit her face, a quick flicker of joy showing itself before hiding again. “Spoiled us really,” she went on. “Trips, toys, constantly spent time with us. Even Aerys did. Back then I thought he was great. Viserys loved him too. But the last few years… I can look back now and see the truth so clearly. The odd looks, the tense ones. The arguments behind closed doors. How they shuffled me off, ignored my questions or dismissed them. Dad being gone more often than not. Viserys growing more cruel by the day.”

Her hand slipped out from beneath his to join the other running through her hair. She worried with it for a moment, twisting it into a silver rope and pulling it over her shoulder. It hurt to watch her struggle and he fought with himself to keep still and quiet, to not stop her. Not touch her. 

That effort became even more difficult as a shadow seemed to fall over her, a frown taking over her face, her shoulders curling in. “A few months after I turned thirteen Dad left on a business trip. I didn't think anything of it. He always came back,” she said with a shrug. “He did that time too, but in a casket.” 

Maybe he shouldn't have, but he couldn't help himself. He put his hand back on her knee, rubbed his thumb on the bare skin peeking through her torn jeans. She threw him a flash of a grin, heartbreaking as it was and went on with her story.

“He’d been found in his hotel room. The Braavosi police said it was suicide. The coroner ruled it the same. No one questioned how he could've possibly managed to shoot himself in the back of the head with a rifle they never found.”

“Bloody hells,” he breathed out.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a shake of her head. “Aerys gave us time to mourn I suppose. He waited until I turned fourteen anyway, and the ink was dry on the guardianship papers before he brought up Drogo. I knew who he was. Had seen him ushered into my uncle's office, in and out the front door. He terrified me. I had never seen anyone so big. Or with such belligerence in their eyes. He was always staring at me every chance he got.”

Her voice had changed, took on a distance, a darkness. He gripped her knee a bit tighter. 

“We were in the dining room having breakfast when Aerys mentioned him coming for a visit. Informed us he’d be staying for a week and we were to be on our best behavior,” she said, her eyes hazy, staring off across the room. “You’ll get to meet her eventually and you’ll see. Aunt Ella is so gentle and kind. But she questioned him that morning, implied it might not be the best time for Drogo to visit. And he just…” 

A shudder rocked through her. Her eyes squeezed shut, muscles locked down. Jon inched closer and held her as best he could, stroked her hair, and waited for the demons to let her go. She dropped her forehead to his shoulder and took several slow, shivering breaths. Each one was a knife to his gut.

“He beat her nearly to death right in front of us,” she finally whispered, then she was out of his arms and pacing in front of him, every step she made full of fury. “After the first few hits she screamed for us to leave, to run. He just hit her harder. She eventually stopped, but only because he was holding her down, choking her. She was turning purple, scratching at his hands and he looked over at me.” 

Dany stopped and turned toward him. Hate and rage and pain came off her in waves. “There was nothing in his eyes,” she said, teeth clenched, voice low. “I was crying and begging him to stop, Viserys holding me back and that bastard just smiled at me, Jon. _Smiled_ at me.” She took up her pacing again, hands in her hair, words tumbling out in a furious torrent. “When she finally quit struggling he stood up and kicked her. Again and again and again. Then he picked her up, she was limp as a ragdoll and I just knew she was dead. The doctors came. She was in a coma, that's what he told me when he had me brought to their room. I didn't even recognize her. Her face was…” 

Just as she'd done after the attack, she froze, spiderweb cracks seeming to be all that held her together. He made it to her in time, by some miracle his feet went where he told them, and he had her back in his arms. There was no river of tears, or even a small sob, but she clung to him as if he were the only lifeline in a sea of nothing as she fought to breathe. 

He whispered nonsense to her, apologies and assurances he had no right to give. Let his hands roam her back, his lips her hair, tiny kisses pressed into the silver strands over and over again. And still he felt helpless. 

With a sharp inhale she looked at him, her eyes bright and burning and begging. “He was just sitting at her bedside like he cared,” she told him, the words spit like venom. “Like someone else had put her there. He pulled me to him, wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered in my ear. ‘She disobeyed me, Daenerys. I didn't want to punish her, but I had to. For her, and you. This family is important to me, it's my job to keep us where we belong. Do you understand?’” 

She pulled away, her disgust clear, but he knew it had nothing to do with him. He let her be, let her pace and rant, purge herself of it if she could.

“I nodded because what else was I going to do? He told me it was time for me to put the family first. I had to marry. We needed Drogo’s help, his men. And I was the price they wanted in return. If I fought him, if I said no, I’d never see Aunt Ella again. He didn't say he’d kill her, but I knew that's what he meant,” she bit out, her beautiful face snarled, hands fisted. “He promised me if I did what he said she would be okay. That _I_ would be okay. That Drogo would be _kind_ to me, take _care_ of me, _love_ me!” she cried, each word delivered with a punch to her chest, and his as well. “And one day I would have children of my own to love like he and Aunt Ella loved me. They could be Targaryens too. And we would all be happy again,” she finished in distraught glee.

As quick as it had blown up, her storm ebbed. She stopped and gave him a pitiful shrug that threatened to tear his heart out. “The next day I stood in front of a priest of some sort in my uncle's office. Aerys on one side of me and Drogo on the other. He took me to my new home not an hour later and I truly became his wife.”

The image was so abhorrent Jon couldn't begin to wrap his whiskey soaked mind around it. Even if he’d been sober… _What man, what vile, monstrous person would ever do that to a child? For business?_

Dany had wandered back over to him, a brush of her fingers against his pulling him from his stupor. He didn't know exactly what he expected to see in her eyes, anguish maybe, or worse shame, but he should've known better. He may have only been in her orbit for a few weeks, but it had been her fire that had drawn him in so completely. And it burned brighter within her eyes just then as any sun that had ever touched his skin. 

“Aunt Ella did come back,” she pushed on, not an ounce of waver in her voice. “She woke up a month later. Far too late to save me. Drogo _wasn’t_ kind. And he never loved me. None of us were happy, save him and Aerys.” 

Her last few sentences may as well have been slaps. Shocking and incensing. Setting a fire to light within him as well. 

“A year later he had finally fucked me enough I was _ripe_ with his child.”

“Fucking hells, Dany,” he swore with a hiss. Walked away because he couldn't not. He knew worse was coming and he needed a minute to brace. But he only took half of it. He went back and faced her, took her hand. “I'm so sorry.” It was useless, worthless, a pitiful penance for what she'd suffered, but he meant it. With every piece of his shredded heart.

She shook her head, tears finally welling in her eyes. Her fingers gripped his tight. “He liked to take me out, show me off. He did one night and wound up dead in the street. Shot. Threatening a man who _dared_ to speak to me in the restaurant. It was my fault though. I smiled at him. Spoke to him when he spoke to me. Some of the family was there, they always were. They told Aerys what happened. I was punished for my _disobedience_ that night. By him, and Drogo’s brothers. I lived, my son died.” 

A boiling twist of nausea rose up within Jon again, mixed with his fury, his grief for hers. She must have seen it in his face. Took it for something else. She pulled away, regret clear in her eyes. He didn't let her get far. 

“Don't,” he begged, pulling her close, her sweet and sorrowful face clasped in his hands. “I'm here. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

He felt her sharp intake of breath as if she'd pulled his own from his lungs. “Are you sure about that?” she whispered. “You have to be sure.”

He was a fool, he was sure of that. Had been most of his wretched life. Everything else was a hope and prayer, a distant drifting dream that never had a chance in any hell of coming true. But her, _this…_ He felt it in his bones, in his blood. All of it, the pain, the suffering, the burning rage. It was just his path to her. 

Whatever happened, however it would end, he was where he was meant to be.

“I'm sure.” 

He didn't know when or how, but he was pressed against the wall, Dany's body pinning him there, her lips and tongue and teeth stealing every breath he had, hands hot and greedy as they slid under his shirt, running up his sides to his back. The alarms were sounding again, a distant ringing in his ears, but he was already too far gone. His had found their way under her shirt as well and she was so fucking soft, her skin burning velvet beneath his callused palms. She was real this time. Finally real, not a fantasy, or a figment of his imagination, but real. He could touch her, taste her, feel her. 

She moved her assault to his neck and his head fell back with a thunk, eyes rolling into his skull it felt so damn good. Hot, sucking kisses down his throat to the hollow between his collarbones, her tongue peeking out to taste him. All the blood had rushed from his head straight to his cock. He was so hard and throbbing every inch of him ached. A groan ripped from his throat. She was tugging at his shirt and he was no longer thinking straight. He pushed off the wall and yanked it over his head before pulling her in for more. 

He drank from her sweet lips as her fingers buried themselves in his hair, luring him where she wanted him. Happy to let her lead, he followed her every cue. When her leg rose, sliding up his thigh to his hip, her moans stirring him tighter, he grabbed it and a handful of her ass, lifting her up. Luscious thighs wrapped around his waist and had them to the couch a heaving breath later. Swung her down onto her back, keeping their bodies and lips molded together. 

It was his turn to explore—her neck, her shoulders, down to her waist. He slid her sweater up and over her breasts, kissing a path across the exposed skin of her stomach as she panted beneath him. Soon he was at the bottom edge of her bra and he didn't have to ask. She pulled it up and out of his way, her beautiful breasts spilling free. Weeks of imagining didn't begin to do her justice. She was the most beautiful fucking sight his eyes had ever seen. He took both in his hands– _so soft and firm–_ and latched onto one stiff peak with greed, sucking it into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue and teeth. Dany arched up with a gasp, then she was writhing, her hips surging up into his. The heat of her soaked through their jeans and lit a fire deep in his spine.

He was going to spill like a boy if he wasn't careful. 

In an attempt to distract himself, he feasted on her breasts, drawing from one stiff peak with his mouth as his fingers teased and pitched the other, her mewls and moans driving his hips forward in a slow grind. They'd barely touched for more than a few minutes, yet she seemed to be hanging from the edge just as he was. 

Her hands released their grip on his hair and found their way to the waist of her jeans, fighting with them, hips wiggling beneath him. “Help me,” she breathed, “get them off. I want to feel your mouth on me.”

Jon nearly came right then and there, letting out a raspy groan, his aching cock rocking against her. _Gods, what it would be like to actually taste her_. He’d thought about more than was right. To be given permission had him nearly undone. But he'd keep it together, he needed to take care of her first, no way in hell he'd last more than a few minutes if he got inside her. He wouldn't leave her wanting. He sat back and reached for the button on her jeans.

“Jon! What the fuck happened to you?” she gasped, eyes wide and full of horror as she sat up and pushed him back, her hands running down his chest and stomach, over every scar. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, cursing himself for not thinking. _Godsdamnit._ He shook his head and stumbled away, going over and grabbing his shirt off the floor. He was slipping his arms in when she pulled it from his hands, taking it hostage. She'd righted her top, her beautiful body covered again. He was such an idiot. “Dany, don't. Please,” he begged, reaching for his shirt.

She wasn't listening, her eyes fixated on the scar over his heart, partially hidden by the wolf tattooed across his pec. She came closer, hand hovering. He dropped his head back and closed his eyes, breath held as he braced for her touch. “Who did this to you?” she whispered, voice thin and broken, fingers trailing light as a feather over the scored crescent.

He shivered and flinched. She gasped, jerked her hand back, brow creased with worry. He grabbed his shirt, but she wouldn't let it go. “Dany, please.”

She released it instantly at his pitiful plea, looking near tears. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.” She chewed on her lip, her fingers now worrying the hem of her sweater. Her eyes… Every shade of violet and deep blue was staring at him, all of them full of her heart, and it was hurting. _For him._ “You don't have to talk about it, we can—”

He shook his head and put his shirt back on. Hid the scars. Sometimes he managed to forget about them that way, keeping them covered. Maybe she would forget too. But one look at her eyes and he knew he had to confess it all. It was time. There was no forgetting or going back. She'd laid herself bare for him, it was his turn to cut himself open and let her decide his fate. 

He blew out a sigh and motioned toward the couch. “Sit. And give me just a sec?” he asked. 

“Of course,” she whispered back.

He went for his hoodie and grabbed his smokes from the pocket. Lit one with shaking hands and sucked down a deep drag. He eyed the whiskey on the counter, he didn't remember her bringing it back down with them. Apparently he was drunk enough, anymore and he’d probably black out. He filled another glass with water instead and joined Dany on the couch. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
I can't leave without sharing these gifts from my delightful friends James and Martha. He begged and she delivered and I'll forever be in their debt. And now you are too, lol. Feast your eyes on boxer!jon. Front and back ;O


	7. Demons On My Sleeve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon digs up his demons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again. Twice in one month! Yay me, lol. 
> 
> Thank you all for the wonderful comments you left me last chapter, I'm happy you're all still hanging with these broken babies and me. Gotta another mostly rough chapter for ya, though it will end on a bit of a high note. That really high note is coming(already written I swear!)but not quite yet. I think you'll forgive me by the time you reach the end. I hope anyway lol. 
> 
> I want to gift this chapter to not just one, but two of the sweetest, most amazing readers out there... Blackhawkschild and Aenarsnow because it's their birthdays and they deserve it! I love you two to the moon and back, thank you for all the laughs and friendship and support! You're the bestest!!
> 
> Also need to throw some love to my bestie Ash as always and my beta extraordinaire, Miss Frostbitepanda. She had a hell of a day but push through and did her bestest for me. Love you ladies!
> 
> I'll shut up now. Go grab ya some tissues, Jonno is about to break your heart <3

_ Two fires, they're breathing _

_ Running out of air _

_ Two hearts, they're bleeding _

_ Feeding this affair _

_ It's too far for a clean escape _

_ Demons on my sleeve _

_ They're not what you expected _

_ When I asked you to believe _

_ For you, for me _

_ Make me a better man _

_ For you, oh please _

_ Make me a better man _

_ With your eyes on my secrets, _

_ God knows what you'll see _

_ There's so much to my story, _

_ But you're the perfect ending _

_ I haven't found what you're looking for _

_ I haven't found what you need _

_ But don't think what you're after is _

_ More than I can be _

_ For you, for me _

_ Make me a better man _

_ For you, oh please _

_ Make me a better man _

_ Make me a better man _

_ For you, for me _

_ Oh please _

_ Make me a better man _

**_Better - Matthew Mayfield_ **

  
  
  


Violet eyes tracked him from across the loft, he felt them just as surely as he had her fingers slipping over his scars. Every nerve he had was screaming at him to hit the stairs, jump on his bike and ride until there was no more road. 

But he was done being a coward.

She'd torn herself open for him, laid her darkest secrets out. Shown him all the cracked and broken pieces.  _ Trusted _ him. 

That was something he hadn't been worthy of in a very long time. He still wasn't sure he was. But maybe you had to trust before you could be trusted. Take a chance to feel alive. 

He wanted that. To feel alive. With her. 

To let it go and feel fucking  _ something _ besides fear and rage. 

The moment he got within reach, Dany’s hand grasped his and gently tugged him closer. Instead of the couch, he sat down in front of her on what constituted his coffee table—concrete blocks with a thick slab of wood stretched between them. 

Their eyes met and the tears rose hot and stinging in his own. He dropped his elbows to his knees and his head into his hands, a shaky breath exhaled.

_ Godsdamn fucking whiskey. _

Fingers plucked his cigarette away. He heard his heavy glass ashtray slide across the wood, felt Dany shift closer and then her fingers were back, threading into his hair, sliding over his. Held him gently as she pressed her lips to the crown of his head. “Take your time,” she whispered, “I'm not going anywhere.”

Her tenderness did nothing to slow the flood, but he nodded. Swallowed hard and breathed through it. Past it. Eased from her grip and sat up, pressing the heel of his hands into his eyes. Willing the tears away. “What do you want to know first?” he finally managed.

“Whatever’s easiest... if any of it is?”

He chuffed, bitter, shook his head. “That’d be a no.” He scrubbed his hands down his face and let them settle on his thighs, wiped the dampness off on his jeans. “Guess uh… guess I’ll just start at the beginning.”

“It's usually a good place,” she ventured softly.

“Mine wasn't.”

She winced at his harsh tone. “Bad choice of words.”

“No,” he said with a heavy sigh, bracing his elbows on his knees again, hands rubbing his face. He was hiding from her, but he couldn't seem to stop himself. “I'm sorry, Dany. I'm not gonna be good at this.”

She circled her fingers over his wrist, her thumb brushing slowly over the thick and knotted bones of his hand. Broken and ill-healed near half a dozen times. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “I don't think I was either.”

He nodded and Dany let him go. He nearly gave into the need to pull her back, but he cupped his clenched fist with his other hand and pressed his knuckle into his lips. 

Once she knew, she’d leave. It was selfish to take any more from her than he already had.

He focused on the yellow stitching of her shiny Doc Martens between his own worn boots and forced the first few words past the briars in his throat. “So, late summer, I’m fifteen. My sisters always went to camp down in the Vale. Stayed two weeks. That year was no different. Dad, his wife—”

“Not your stepmom?”

His eyes shot to hers. Her brows were peaked in question. “Uhh, no,” he answered with a huff and a shake of his head. He ground his fist into his palm, squeezed it. One of his knuckles cracked. He flexed and fisted them again. Cracked a few more. “A mother to me, even in name, wasn't something Catelyn ever wanted to be.”

“Wait? She's not your dad's second wife?” she asked, quick and confused. “I was assuming since your mom died…”

She sounded so unsure by the end he waved his fingers at her and scrunched his nose, dismissing her worry. “Let's just say if she hadn't, I would've never known my father or my brothers and sisters. She was a drunken one night stand for him, nothing more. He was already married to Catelyn, they’d been fighting. He made a mistake.  _ I _ was a mistake. One he was forced to own up to.” He blew out a slow breath. “Catelyn just never let me forget it.”

Dany sat forward and pierced him with a hard gaze, a finger held up and pointed at his nose. “First off, you are  _ not _ a mistake,” she bit out. “And second…” Fury flashed in her narrowed eyes. “That bitch blamed  _ you? A child?  _ What kind of cunt does that?”

He huffed a laugh, heat filling his chest at her defensiveness. Whatever the feeling was, his memories of it were old and faded, but warm, too. Like a treasured book from childhood, something that should be missed. Remembered fondly.

He set it aside to examine later and scrubbed at his stubble, giving a shrug. “She blamed him too, I guess. But for some reason I got the brunt of it.” Scowling, he shook his head. “None of that matters though, not to the rest.”

If her frown meant anything, Dany didn't seem too happy with this dismissal, but she didn't voice it. Just sat back and crossed her arms. 

“It was time for my sisters to come home,” he pushed on despite the tangled twist of thorns growing in his gut. “Dad, Catelyn and my brothers went to get them. Me and Rickon were the only ones left behind. I was working, he was little and hated long car rides so they left him with a friend.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut as if that might stop the memories from flashing through his mind. Of course it didn't. They were still crisp and clear. Able to snatch him back in an instant. To their house, his room, his  _ home. _ Robb was the only one he’d said goodbye to that morning. A  _ ‘see ya later’ _ thrown at the grumbling lump under the covers in the bed across from his as he walked out the door. No one else had been awake, the house quiet as he slipped out to spend the last few ordinary hours he’d ever get. Stocking shelves. Bagging groceries. Walking the old ladies out to their cars as they chattered and smiled. Stuffed crinkled bills in his hand before driving off, their noses barely above the wheel.

Far too many times he’d laid in his cell and wondered how he would've spent those last hours before his world crumbled if he had known. Shame and guilt always followed.. Because each time he had come to the same conclusion: he would've begged and pleaded to go with them. To die, too. To not be left behind to fail. 

Hands took his and he blinked his eyes open. Dany had sat up again, staring at him with helplessness written all over her beautiful face. He hooked their fingers together, needing something to hold on to, to slow the building beat of his heart. Panic wasn't an option, yet there was still too much to tell. He owed her.

He cleared his throat, not that it did any good. It was still a struggle to get any words through. Like a steel door nearly rusted shut. He’d kept it locked for far too long. The secrets hidden behind it. “About halfway into my shift at the grocery store the cops showed up looking for me. They were dead,” he managed hoarsely. “All four of them.”

Her reaction was immediate. A muffled, whimpering gasp, fingers squeezing his. “I'm so sorry, Jon.”

No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't stop and let her soothe him, or he’d never start again. He bowed his head to their entwined hands and kept pulling the memories free. “They never made it to the Vale. Hit some water, hydroplaned and went off a mountain. I was fifteen and suddenly had three kids to take care of. We were all a fuckin’ wreck. Rickon didn't understand and kept askin’ when they were comin’ back. Sansa cried constantly. Arya tried to be brave, but she cried herself to sleep every night. I had lawyers pullin’ me apart. Bankers, the funeral home. Work, my school, their school, our neighbors. It was a fuckin’ nightmare.” He pulled himself free of her grip and swiped a hand over his clammy face, and up into his hair. “I thought I was in hell then, I never dreamed it’d get worse, but it did.”

He heard Dany swallow, but if she had any words to say she kept them in, encouraging him with her touch instead, hands slowly running up and down his thighs. 

He shifted further back on the table and braced on his hands. “One of the lawyers called the state. A week after the funeral they showed up. They said we couldn't stay at home. That I couldn't keep the kids. I was a kid myself and didn't need to be raisin’ any. I knew I didn't, wasn't nearly what they needed, but what choice did I have?” he asked, his voice growing high and pitchy, the words tumbling too fast. “They didn't have anyone but me and we didn't have anywhere else to go. I asked if they couldn't just help us, help me, but they said I just wasn't old enough, if I’d been seventeen maybe they could've bent the rules. But I wasn't. They gave me a few days to get our stuff together, to explain to my brother and sisters what would happen then they’d be back to get us. The only assurance I got was they would do their best to keep us together. They couldn't promise, but they'd try.”

“They didn't, did they?” Dany asked softly. She was close again, her knuckles at his knee. 

He shook his head and breathed deep. Her scent sank in and calmed him more than it should've. “I think they tried, but not for long. They took us to an orphanage of sorts. Some women were there with their kids, too. There wasn't a lot of space and they always needed more. I think we got maybe a week before they took Rickon. He was the youngest. Easiest to place. He still didn't understand what was happenin’. They carried him out kickin’ and screamin’,” he whispered. 

Jon could still see his face, red and tear streaked, his mouth opened like a little bird begging as he screamed for him, hands clawed and reaching. He hadn't slept that night, hardly at all in the nights that followed, his mind filled with the horrors his brother might’ve been living. How afraid he must've been. How alone he had to feel. It was a torment Jon hadn't been familiar with then, but one he knew better than any other now. 

Sometimes not knowing was worse. So much worse.

“The girls went next, a few days later. A family agreed to take them both at least. Sansa was numb by then, she didn't even tell me bye. Pretty sure she blamed me for it all somehow. Arya though. She wouldn't let me go. I had to make her,” he husked, the tears building again, pricking at the backs of his eyes. “I swore I would get her back. I’d get all of them back and we could go home again. As soon as I was old enough. I promised her.” 

The air was suddenly too thin, didn't want to fill his lungs. He struggled to pull in more only for Ygritte's bloody and gargled gasps to echo through his memories.

_ You know nothing, Jon Snow. _

He sucked in another breath, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. “I didn't keep my promise.”

“Jon, you were just a kid,” Dany was quick to soothe. “You can't blame yourself.”

She didn't know, she didn't understand.

“Yes I can,” he bit out and was on his feet, going back for his smokes only to find the pack empty. He threw it aside with a curse and the whiskey was soon burning a path to his churning gut. Until the bottle was snatched from his grip, whiskey sloshing onto his face, neck and even the counter.

He turned a hateful glare at his offender. 

Dany stood there, eyes glinting. “My bar, my rules,” she said, soft yet steely all at once. “No more.”

“We're not in your bar,” he argued. He was desperate. Dangling over the edge, his thread fraying more with each breath he took.

She sat the bottle down, her eyes never leaving his as she stepped closer and pressed her palm over his pounding heart. “Take me instead. Let me help. Like you helped me.”

Jon could only shake his head, his throat thick, tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Whatever goodness Dany was offering he didn't deserve it. Not like she had. She couldn't see the blood on his hands, but he could. He held them out and sure enough, his skin was stained bright red. The crimson slick and warm as it spilled from between his fingers. Puddled across the floor at his feet.

A piercing ring splintered the silence, filling his ears, sent pain spiking through his head. Dany was talking to him, her were lips moving, but he couldn't hear a word she said. The blinding lights hit next and he was lost to the panic. 

His feet were moving, following whatever force was pulling him forward. Cold seeped into him, surrounded him, eventually snapped him back from his nightmares. 

He drew in a sharp breath to find nothing but air beneath him save for the hard metal grate he sat on. His feet dangled through iron bars. Between them, the alley below glowed red and blue from the streetlights at either end. He very well may have scrambled away and ran had Dany not been beside him, puffing on a cigarette. 

He wasn't in prison anymore, at least not the real one he’d inhabited for so long. 

His eyes slid over her and she looked up, gaze gentle as she passed the smoke to him. “Go slow, it's the only one I could find.”

He took it from her, his movements oddly sluggish until he remembered the last chug of whiskey he’d taken. The heaviness in his limbs registered. The tingling in his fingers and face. The warmth flushing his skin. The haze of his mind, strange, but comfortable.

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

After a couple of slow drags his sedation was as deep as he could hope for and still be coherent. Enough that it might actually be possible to get through the rest without completely losing his shit. 

Maybe.

Maybe not. 

He’d been blameless in the loss of his family. Helpless when it came to his siblings. But the rest… the worst… he’d struggled with the weight of it long enough to know his guilt was earned, whether purposeful or not. It may as well have had a pulse it was so intrusive. So aware of h is every moment. A living thing that stalked him night and day. Admitting it to Dany, bringing it out in the open, was bound to break his skin. Bound to rip him apart at the seams. But keeping it in any longer wasn't possible. All his defenses were gone.

“How long have we been out here?”

“Not long. ‘Bout half an hour.”

“I didn't fight you, did I?”

“No.” She blessed him with a soft smile. “You obey better than my dogs do.”

He dropped his head with a chuff, a bitter grin tugging at his mouth. Twice now he’d fallen apart right in front of her. Gotten himself good and drunk. Left her to take care of him. He was pathetic. 

“I'm sorry.”

“Jon,” she grabbed his hand and shook her head, her expression firm, “no more apologies. You don't owe me any.”

Arguing with her wouldn't change her mind, but he didn't agree. At all. He flicked his thumb over the end of his smoke. “Just everyone else,” he muttered to himself as he brought it back to his lips for another drag. 

He had more to be sorry for than not. It was a constant mantra inside his head. Never ceasing. 

_ I'm sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.  _

No one ever answered. Until her.

“Do you know where your uncle found me, Dany?” 

“No,” she answered with a tiny shake of her head. “Whether he had it done or if it was already that way, there's almost nothing on you. Just your name and id number. Everything else was sealed, like I said.”

_ No more secrets, Snow. Quit stalling. Quit running. Rip open the wounds and bleed. _

He squinted up at the moon and took the iron bars in a tight grip to keep himself rooted. “Maybe that's just what they do once they lock you up.”

Her head whipped around. “What?”

Instead of her or the painful beats of his heart he kept his focus on the sky above them. It was lighter than it had been. More gray than black. Dawn was coming. “I was in prison, Dany. For six years. Should've been ten. That's where he found me. That's why I haven't kissed a girl in so long. Why I haven't had a drink. Why my switch flips. Why I’m an awkward, fucked up mess.”

He felt her stare as well as he had the knives when they pierced his skin. Split his muscles. Nicked his bones. Embedded in his heart. 

“What for?” She tried to hide it, to keep her question calm, voice even, but he heard the wariness hidden beneath as if she'd screamed it.

He got up before she could. Would. Put space between them so she didn't have to be afraid. Swallowed down the bile rising up his throat as he stumbled a few steps up the fire escape and sat down. Dany didn't follow. Didn't move a muscle. He couldn't look at her, couldn't face the fear he knew would be in her eyes. He dropped his elbows to his knees and pressed his thumbs against the bridge of his nose as he rocked. Breathed deep. 

“Jon.”

“Accessory to murder. Two counts.”

Silence hung between them. Pressed down on him as well as half a dozen men pinning him to a gritty floor. Waiting for her judgement. 

“Accessory doesn't mean you did it,” she finally said. The small hitch of hope at the end made his stomach turn.

His hand shook as he brought the cigarette back to his lips and sucked the rest of it down in one long pull. “I might as well have.”

Another silence. Stretching longer than the last. 

“I need you to explain, Jon.”

She wasn't asking. And he’d gone too far to undo the damage. 

For just a moment, he allowed himself to look at her. The light shining through the loft windows bathed her in a low golden glow. She looked tired. She looked…  _ detached. _ Already she was pulling back, raising up her walls again. Summer was fading to winter. One that would no doubt never end. But he’d expected it. Knew it never had a hope of ending any other way. Being in her arms, even if fleeting, was more than he’d deserved, but he’d been blessed regardless and he’d never forget. While his dreams always vanished, at least he’d had them.

He dropped his head in his hand again, determined to tell her the rest and be done with it. “Three days after they took my sisters it was my turn. A family had finally agreed to take me in. The Boltons. They had a son my age, they thought I’d be a good fit. And they lived not far from where I had. I’d be back at my old school. I guess I was as happy about it as I could've been. I’d never had a lot of friends, the ones I did were more my brother Robb’s. But I had a girlfriend…” 

Icy eyes flashed at him, arrogant and assured. So bright within her pale face, surrounded by all that flaming hair. 

_ I loved you more than you ever did me. _

“Ygritte,” he whispered.

“What?”

He cleared his throat. “Ygritte. Her name was Ygritte,” he rasped. “She was glad I was back. We’d got together at a New Year's party. Robb made me go. First time I ever got drunk. There were a few firsts that night actually. We...” He rolled his hand in the air.

“Got it. You popped her cherry.”

“She popped mine,” he corrected. “Anyway. I kinda knew my foster brother, just  _ of _ him, really. Ramsay. Ramsay Bolton,” he gritted out. That old familiar rage bubbled up, but he pressed it back down. It was useless. “He was a few months older than me. A real smartarse. Arrogant and mean as all hells. Shoving people in lockers, their heads in the loo, striping them naked and throwing them into a hall full of people. Shit like that. He’d never bothered me, liked to pick on the younger lot. Things were alright, at first. We weren't friends, but we tolerated one another well enough. He had his license already, drove us back and forth to school. Even let Ygritte ride with us sometimes. Things got normal, routine. I went to school, went to work, kept my head down. I was just biding time. Two and half years. That's all I needed then I could get them back.” 

Movement had his head jerking up. Dany was pulling her legs free of the railing. He thought she might be getting up to join him, but she spun around instead. Leaned back and tucked her knees to her chest, her hair behind her ear, blinked at him expectantly.

She could've left already. He was lucky she hadn't. So he shoved a hand into his hair, gripped it tight and started again. “It was almost Christmas. Six months since they’d died. Since they'd split us up. Another weekend came round, a Saturday night. Ramsay decided we needed to go for a drive. He was bored…”

His room at the Boltons had been much like his and Robb's, just smaller. And drab and dark. Even though that suited his mood most days. It had one window with tattered plastic blinds they never opened. Two beds, a nightstand between them. A dresser and a closet. Ratty old sculpted carpet in a puke green he was certain was the cause of the musty smell that constantly hung in the air and never waned. 

And then there was Ramsay.

_ A hard kick shook the bed beneath him. He ripped his headphones off and threw Ramsay a scowl. “What is it?” _

_ “Get up, let's go.” _

_ “I'm studyin’. We have a geography test Monday.” _

_ Ramsay rolled his eyes. “It’s Saturday and you're pathetic. Get up. Call your skinny bird if you want.” _

_ “What's so important?” _

_ “I'm sick of sitting here listening to that cow jabber on about my father's rubbish she's ready to squeeze out.” _

_ That was nothing new. Ramsay hated his stepmother. She was barely older than them, only eighteen, but she was ready to pop she was so pregnant with his father's kid. A boy. Walda talked about him constantly. It was annoying as shit for Jon, so he couldn't really blame Ramsay. It had to be worse for him. _

_ Maybe it wouldn't be bad to get out. He hadn't seen Ygritte outside of school in over two weeks. She’d been hounding him about it, too. If he surprised her she’d be satisfied for a while. If he was lucky. And he still had Sunday to study.  _

_ He closed his textbook and got up. Shoved on his trainers, Ramsay giving him a weird smirk as he watched from the doorway.  _

_ Ygritte was indeed happy. Her fiery hair flying out behind her as she ran to the car, a flash of flame beneath the blue glow of the streetlight. She pulled him into the back seat with glee and was already snogging him by the time Ramsay pulled out of her drive with squealing tires, the radio turned up so loud Jon felt the bass beat within his chest. But he was grateful for it.  _

_ Ramsay would hear everything otherwise.  _

_ Ygritte whispering in his ear. Her gasps. His grunts. The squelch of their kisses, the rustle of clothes as she shoved his hand under her skirt and hers into his pants. It was the same every time. She was wild and always wanting, demanding. Somehow she never failed to override the shame coursing through him. Her hand wrapped around his cock, squeezing and pulling, shut down everything else in his brain despite Ramsay’s ghostly bright eyes watching them in the rearview.  _

_ He looped them through town half a dozen times. Said something about picking up some smokes Jon barely caught. Ygritte was gasping in his ear, his fingers trapped between her damp and trembling thighs as she came. Despite her euphoria, her hand still worked him, tugging him closer and closer to the edge.  _

_ The car swerved sharp to the left and squealed to a sudden stop. Neither paying attention to anything but each other, he and Ygritte were nearly thrown to the floorboard. The back of his head smacked the window, his almost orgasm coming to an abrupt and painful end thanks to Ygritte's tight grip.  _

_ “I gotta take a piss. Everybody out,” Ramsay said, throwing the car into park and cutting the engine. _

_ “Go take your fuckin’ piss, you arse! We’re fine right here,” Jon snarled, his temper way past controllable. He rubbed at the back of his head. Already he could feel a knot popping up beneath his fingers. _

_ Ramsay turned around in his seat. A smile made a slow and septic slash across his face. “You don't get to blow your load in my car, Snow,” he said with an eerie calm. “Get. Out.” _

_ “C’mon,” Ygritte murmured in his ear. Her clothes had been hastily straightened, but her hair was still a wild halo around her freckled face. She rubbed at his chest. “You can buy me some crisps and chocolate,” she whispered and nipped his earlobe, lashing it with her wet tongue. “I promise to finish you off later.” _

_ He cut her a look and righted himself. He should've stayed the fuck at home. They could both piss off. _

_ Ramsay chuckled as he climbed out. Jon wanted nothing more than to deck the bastard. Ygritte was out a moment later and he reluctantly followed, fists clenched inside his coat pockets. Ramsay made it to the door first and held it open for them, waving them in with a grand sweep of his hand, his sick grin still in place. The moment the door closed behind them he headed straight to the back to take his piss.  _

_ Ygritte grabbed Jon by his coat sleeve and dragged him to the candy aisle. Her arms soon overflowed with junk food. He had no idea where she put it all. She regularly ate more than him and stayed as skinny as a fucking rail.  _

_ She sent him off for sodas as she kept scanning the shelf for more junk. He gladly went, his mood foul. The store was surprisingly empty and he was glad for that, too. The less people he had to deal with the better.  _

_ He met Ygritte at the counter a couple minutes later to hand over a day’s pay. The clerk, an old fella, was already ringing them up. He was nice, joking about something or another. Had Ygritte laughing over something his grandkids did. Jon was still too pissed to listen. _

_ He just wanted to leave. To go back to his bed and music and pretend he was home. Pretend none of it had ever happened. _

_ The clerk's smiling gaze landed on him, he gave a nod as his bony finger punched the total button, his nail tapping against the hard plastic. Jon counted his money out and handed it over with a forced smile of his own.  _

_ The register popped open, the bell ringing loud, the drawer sliding out with a snap. _

_ A sharp series of clicks sounded in his left ear as the old man stiffened across the counter. Jon turned, his blood freezing. Ramsay was holding a gun in his outstretched hand, that evil smirk alight on his face. _

_ “What the bloody fuck are you doin’?” Jon bit out, his heart threatening to rip through his chest. _

_ Ramsay was stone still, as calm as an iced over pond. “I’m in need of some funds. And this gentleman is going to help me. Isn’t that right, sir?” _

_ Ygritte gave a snort behind him, her bag of junk food crinkling. “Oh, sod off, you bloody wanker,” she smarted off with a bit of a laugh. “Put that thing away and let's go.”  _

_ She thought Ramsay was playing a prank. _

_ He wasn't.  _

_ Jon could see it in his eyes. They were wild. Bright and black all at once. He didn't need the money, he was doing it because he could. Just to get a fucking thrill.  _

_ A thrill that would cost Jon everything.  _

_ “C’mon, Ramsay. Don't—” _

_ The bastard's smirk widened and Jon’s stomach twisted and sank into his shoes. “You really think I’m gonna listen to you? Or your skinny bitch?” Ramsay scoffed. _

_ Ygritte gave a gasp of outrage and threw herself into Jon’s back, cursing Ramsay as if she were a rabid dog at a fence. Jon grabbed her arm in a fierce grip and glared at her over his shoulder. “Shut the fuck up,” he hissed. “You're not helpin’.” _

_ A slow, soft chuckle drew their attention back to Ramsay. “Little late to be trying to control her, Snow. You gave up your balls far too long ago for that.” His eyes flicked back to the clerk. “Money, old man. Now, please.” _

_ The old man…  _

_ A sickening dread filled Jon, his mouth going dry, chest tight around his racing heart. The world narrowed to a pinhole as their eyes met, Jon’s begging, the old man's full of fight. _

No! __

_ He shook his head, silently pleading with him not to fight back. To play along. To give in. _

Please gods, don't. Don't!

_ For whatever reason the old man didn't listen. Didn't care. He reached under the counter, just barely, his frail fingers slipping beneath and that's all it took.  _

_ Ramsay pulled the trigger. The discharge was deafening-- not even a foot from Jon’s ear. A shrill ringing exploded in his head, but his eyes were locked on the old man. He’d stumbled back, landing hard against the display of cigarettes behind him, cartons and packs falling in a cascade. Rich red blood poured through his fingers, clutched high to his side. His face a mask of shock and pain. He slipped to the floor with a pitiful groan. _

_ Ygritte was yelling, yanking and pulling at Jon’s coat. Ramsay was laughing. Laughing and still pointing the gun.  _

_ Jon didn't think. His blood pumping with pure rage. He tackled the bastard to the floor. The gun went off again, but he didn't care. The fury engulfing him was all he knew. All of it aimed at Ramsay, fists hammering him into the garish, glittered tile. _

_ Every punch felt better than the last. Feeling bone breaking beneath his fists. Hearing the bastard's groans as his skin split and blood splattered. _

_ How dare he fuck things up? Drag him into his bullshit? When he knew all Jon had at stake? He’d promised Arya. Swore to her. He’d kill him if that's what it took. _

_ Even with Ygritte’s yelling, Jon’s focus never waned. Nor his rage. It grew with every swing of his fists, each one landing harder and with more force than the last, no matter how Ramsay fought back.  _

_ Jon took a hit to his nose. The butt of the gun cracked him over the eye. A weak punch to the mouth. _

_ None of it mattered.  _

_ Ramsay would suffer. He would know fear. He would know pain. He would know what it was like to have his world torn apart. Jon wouldn't stop until he did. _

_ The gun went off for a third time and Ramsay laughed, a maddened thing filled with glee, but he kept fighting Jon. Punching, wrestling, struggling to keep the gun away from him. Until he landed a vicious punch across his face. Something flamed to life within Ramsey then and Jon became his target.  _

_ Looking down the barrel of a gun wasn't something Jon had ever imagined would happen to him. He stilled and stared into the blackhole aimed between his eyes and waited for it all to go black. Decided death might be better.  _

_ He’d see Robb again. His dad. Finally know his mother. _

_ But then Arya's smile flashed bright within his mind. Rickon's laughter. Sansa's tears.  _

_ His fury ignited once more and he fought back like a man possessed. His hands wrapped around the barrel, wrenching it away from his face with all his strength, Ramsay fighting equally as fierce beneath him. _

_ The gun went off again. Three times in quick succession. Burning and bruising in Jon’s palm. _

_ Blinding white light filled his vision and his ears exploded with a vicious ringing. Each percussive blast pitching it higher. But still he swung. Ignored the pain. Prayed to all the gods he’d given up on that his aim was true. _

_ His fist met flesh once more and Ramsay fell still beneath him. Jon pried his eyes open to see the bastard was finally out cold. Face bloodied and beat to a pulp. His arms limp and lifeless, splayed out at his sides. The gun laid a foot away from his fingertips. _

_ The rage ebbed, only to be replaced with a surge of adrenaline. He scrambled off him and to his feet, grabbing the gun and nearly dropping it from his blood-slick and battered hands before he managed to stuff it in his coat pocket. If Ramsay woke, at least Jon would have the upper hand. _

_ His head was still filled with the incessant ringing, piercing and sharp, but his vision had cleared. He searched the store for Ygritte. She wasn't yelling anymore. At least he didn't think so. A quick scan proved fruitless.  _

_ Maybe she’d ran outside and gone for help.  _

_ He went to the clerk, but one look behind the counter and Jon knew the old man was dead. Nausea boiled up in his stomach and rose into his throat, blistering and burning.  _

_ How had it all gone so wrong so fucking fast? _

_ He turned, searching again. He had to find Ygritte. Call the cops. They’d explain it to them. He’d have to go back to the state home, but he didn't care as long— _

_ He stopped short. A pair of feet were sticking out of one of the aisles. They weren't moving. And the shoes… he knew those shoes. _

_ Panic erupted inside him all over again.  _

_ “Ygritte!” _

_ She laid in a pool of crimson, more of it blooming over her chest, wet and dark. He dropped to his knees beside her. “Ygritte,” he whispered, a shaky hand hovering at her face. _

_ She was so still. So pale. But beneath the roar and ringing in his ears he heard a soft intake of air. Her lashes fluttered. _

_ He pulled her into his lap. He shouldn't have, he  _ knew _ he shouldn't have, but he couldn't stop himself. She gave a cry of pain, coughed and gasped, blood spraying from her mouth, more pooling in the back of her throat.  _

_ Her eyes opened, their iciness gone, replaced with a dull, blue haze. “Jon…” _

_ Grief gnawed at his guts. He pulled her closer. “Hush. It's alright. They're comin’ to help. I can hear the sirens,” he told her. He couldn't, but he had to hope. She couldn't die, too. “You’ll be alright.” _

_ “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she wheezed. _

_ “Don't,” he begged. “Please don't.” _

_ She smiled and drew in a ragged breath. Blood spilled from her mouth and across her cheek. “Save your tears. I loved you more than you ever did me,” she whispered.  _

_ “Ygritte, no.” _

_ “I always knew,” she denied him and drew in another shuddering breath. “I'll haunt you for it.” _

_ “I'm sorry. I'm sorry…” _

“I'm so sorry,” came a whisper in his ear, a pair of soft lips pressing a kiss to his temple. Lemons and flowers wafted around him. 

_ Dany.  _

She was behind him. Wrapped around his shoulders. Her arms had him gathered to her chest, one hand in his hair, gently running over his scalp as she murmured to him. He turned his face into her neck and gripped the hand she had pressed to his heart. For once he didn't think of escaping to hide and lick his wounds alone. 

They sat there for a long while, neither saying a word. Jon felt scooped out, drained, but lighter, too. The weight of it lifted off him for however long. He knew it wouldn't last. He’d never be free of it. But a few minutes of ease was nice. 

He pulled away from her and leaned over onto his knees, fingers digging into his scalp. “Do you understand, now? Why I’m so afraid to let you get close? I’ll get you killed. I can't live with your blood on my hands too, Dany.”

Her palms pressed into his back, using him as a brace to get to her feet. One Doc Marten gave him a soft kick to the thigh and he scooted over for her. He half expected her to keep going down the stairs and into the loft and out his door, but she sat beside him instead. 

She took his right hand in hers, gently opening his fingers before running her own over his palm. “There's no blood on your hands, Jon. It wasn't your fault. None of it.”

He shook his head as he tried to pull his hand away. Dany refused him, kept her grip firm. He blew out a frustrated sigh. “Maybe not all of it. But I could've tackled him the moment he pulled the gun. Or when I saw the old man go for his. And I didn't even tell her to run. If I hadn't been so angry…”

“You had to stop him, you did the right thing,” Dany insisted.

“No one else thought so,” he shot back. “They found me holding her dead body, her blood all over me. The gun in my pocket. I was in cuffs within thirty minutes. I told them what happened, but they didn't believe me. Ramsay woke up and said it was me. That I’d killed them and had meant to kill him, too. His father showed up at the station and said the same damn thing. They twisted it around, said I talked  _ him  _ into robbin’ the store. I was the fucked up foster kid takin’ his son down out of spite.”

No one had believed him. All of them telling him over and over he was just as guilty. That he had pulled the trigger too. That he was bitter and angry and wanted Ramsay to suffer as he had. That he never cared for Ygritte, she was just a distraction. Disposable.

Soon enough he’d just quit trying and accepted his fate. 

Dany probably should've been peppering him with questions. It would've been the smart thing to do, but she seemed to be taking him at his word. She still sat silently beside him. His hand in hers. Hadn't moved a muscle to flee from him. He didn't know whether to be scared for her, or grateful. 

He  _ did _ know there was still more story to tell. Still more blood to bleed.

“The security video was the only thing that saved me for going down for all of it,” he went on. “They saw what happened at the counter, that he pulled the gun and shot the clerk. Me tackling him after. But the other cameras weren't workin’ so there was no way to tell when she got hit. My prints were on the gun though, not just his. It was enough to lock me up on accessory charges.”

Dany squeezed his hand, her gaze heavy on him. “They were wrong, Jon. They never should’ve arrested you. Let alone charged you. You didn't deserve it. You have to know that.”

He did and he didn't, but hearing her say so had his eyes stinging. He rubbed at them, cursing the whiskey again. And his broken and battered heart. It couldn't seem to even take simple care without falling apart on him. His bitterness though, that was much stronger. That much he could depend on. 

“It didn't matter what I knew. Or how many times I told them the truth, Dany. They thought I was in on it. The cops. The judge. Even my lawyer. He basically forced me into a deal.  _ The best I could get,”  _ he ranted, mocking the piece of shit that had represented him. “He said I was  _ lucky _ it was only ten years. I should’ve been  _ grateful _ it wasn't more. He told me it’d be good for me. Like the military.  _ Make me a man.” _

“I want his name.”

He whipped his head around and frowned at her. “What?”

“Your lawyer's name.”

“What for?”

She kissed him, her lips pressed to his, slow and sweet. It shocked him into a stupor. He could only blink at her as she pulled away. “We can talk about it later. Let's go inside, okay? I'm cold.” She stood and tugged at his hand.

There was no need to ask him twice even though his body didn't want to move. He felt as if he’d been fighting for hours, his mind and all the rest of him as wrung out as an old rag. He grabbed the railing and managed to pull himself to his feet with her help. Her arm wrapped around his hips and kept him steady. Getting inside was a bit of a struggle, the damn windows barely opened enough for him to climb through. He fell, but thankfully he only hit the hard floor and not her. How in the hells she got him out there in the first place he didn't want to think about. 

Once he was on his feet again she led him over to his mattress and he dropped to his hands and knees before flopping over onto his back and letting out a relieved groan. “You wanna kill him too, don't you?” 

_ Shit.  _ He hadn't meant to ask that out loud.

There was a tug at his right foot and he popped his head up to see Dany unlacing one of his boots. “The lawyer?” she asked and he could only grunt in answer, too in awe at the sight of her taking care of him to really speak. She shrugged. “Maybe.”

She spoke of killing people with surprising ease. Killing for herself, and him. After what she'd told him, he couldn't blame her. And gods knew he’d imagined getting revenge more than was probably deemed sane and safe. Maybe they could be a better Bonnie and Clyde. Kill everyone who had ever hurt them and escape into the sunset instead of ending in a hail of gunfire. 

He rubbed at the scar over his heart, hate filled faces and shiny blades flashing through his memories. The pain they brought. The cold. “I’ve got a few more to add to the list.” 

Dany, now shed of her own boots, crawled up beside him and laid down, her pretty head resting on her arm. His breath caught, his heart lodged in his throat and pounding away. She was in his bed. With him. Only inches between them. The heaviness in his limbs was slowly turning into an electric tingle.

She smiled at him, a barely-there curve of her lips. “We’ll make our list tomorrow,” she said softly and ran her fingers into his hair. “After we sleep.”

His eyes fell closed and he turned into her touch. Sleep sounded good. Especially with her beside him. He had no idea it felt so good to have someone play with your hair. He might have to take her hostage for that alone. “I don't know who it was anyway,” he mumbled. “Just suspicions. Faces in the dark. Voices whisperin’.”

Her face nuzzled into his, her breath warm against his cheek. “Why would they hurt you?” she whispered. 

The pain in her voice had him shaking himself from the exhaustion pulling at him. He pried his eyes back open and stared up at her, not even considering denying her an answer. “I was their  _ pet _ . I turned on them and they didn't like it.”

“Their  _ pet?”  _

“They called me that to piss me off, rile me up. Their pretty pet. The White Wolf.”

Dany rose up on her elbow, her eyes following her hand as it slid under his shirt, pulling it up far enough to reveal all his scars and his tattoo. Her fingers traced it, leaving burning trails in their wake. “Is this why they called you a wolf?”

He swallowed hard and pressed her hand to his chest with his own. Her touch was too sweet a torment. “No,” he husked, “they gave me that, about a year after I went in. When I started beatin’ everyone they put in front of me. They didn't want me to forget who I belonged to.”

“Who is ‘they’?” she asked lowly.

“Some of the other prisoners. They’d been there for decades already. They tried for weeks. Months really.”

“Tried what?”

“To rape me.”

She drew back as if he'd slapped her.  _ “What!?” _

He hadn't meant to be so offhand about it, but his brain was swimming in whiskey and weariness. He shrugged. “That's what they do. Wait for the young ones to come in and gang up on them. Scare them into submission and make them their  _ boys. _ They never got me though,” he said with a grin and a wink. 

_ Gods, he was so fucking knackered.  _

Dany's scowl had him turning into her again, hiding, tucking his face into her neck. Her hand slowly slid back into his hair and a sigh left him. “I sent half of em to the infirmary more than once so they finally settled for me bein’ their fighter instead. Told me they’d just kill me if I didn't do it. And they would have. They’d killed others for a lot less.”

“Why the fuck didn't the guards stop it?”

He snorted. “Most of ‘em are no better than the criminals. They all have deals with the inmates and vice versa. Turn a blind eye and all that. Several of them made a lot of money off me.”

“Then why did they try to kill you?”

“Like I said. I turned on ‘em. There were other boys they were hurtin’…” 

Satin’s soft face flickered across his vision. He’d been such a thin thing. Willowy like a girl. Pretty like one, too. Grenn and Pip. Sam… 

“Most of em weren't as strong as me and I couldn't watch ‘em all the time, or protect ‘em all so I told the Warden what was goin’ on under his nose. Three months later they finally managed to jump me and make it stick. Knives were all they needed. I didn't fight back that time. Maybe I should've, but dyin’ felt easier. Deserved.”

She sat up, leaving him to catch himself. When his eyes focused again he found her glaring at him. “That’s bullshit, Jon,” she spit. “You haven't done anything deserving of that.” 

Her fire sparked his own. “I failed my little brother and sisters, Dany,” he barked back, sitting up, too. His head spun and he flung a hand out towards the windows. “They're out there somewhere. Gods knows  _ what _ they’ve suffered, might still be sufferin’. I failed that old man. Got Ygritte killed. Failed myself. The boys back at the Wall. I’ll fail you too!” 

He was yelling. He shouldn't be yelling. He drew his knee up and braced his elbow on it, his head on his hand, fingers buried in his hair. “I try to do right, but it always goes to fucking shit,” he sighed.

Dany pulled his hand away and held it in hers. Tugged on it until he met her eyes. “None of it was your fault, Jon.” He opened his mouth to argue the contrary, but she stopped him with a finger to his lips and a shake of her head. “I get it, I do. You know I do. We’ve both been dealt shit hands all our lives, but that doesn't mean we’ll lose this one.”

He wanted to have the faith she did, the hope, but his demons still had their claws buried deep. “If I fail you too,” he croaked, shaking his head, “I can't, I won't—”

She squeezed his hand and gave it a bit of a shake. “Nothing you told me changed my mind about you.” 

He shook his head again, staring at her as hard as his inebriated state would let him. “I meant what I said. I’ll kill your brother if he hurts you again. Then how will you feel? We can't do this. Your uncle alone will—”

She grabbed his chin, sparks dancing in her eyes. “Are you letting me decide, or are you deciding for me?”

“Dany—”

“Answer my question.”

Another sigh left him, his eyes falling closed. Her hand slipped away and he dropped his head. She was right and he was going back on his word. He told her he trusted her. All but asked her to open her own wounds before promising he wasn't going anywhere. Yet he was pushing her away again, letting his demons win. 

“It's my choice, right?” she pressed, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

He nodded, a smile slipping free. 

_ Property of no one.  _

“Then I’ve made it,” she declared. “I was right. You're a good man. You’ve just been dealt a shit hand like me.”

“It's hard not to feel like I’ll just be another one for you.”

“Well, I’m a pretty good poker player and I think you’re going to be the winning hand.”

He rolled his eyes with a snort. “You’ve had too much whiskey.”

She smiled again and she inched closer. “I haven't had near as much as you.”

His eyes fell closed, shame filling him. 

He felt her finger tap his chin. “Look at me,” she urged and he did. Couldn't not. “I’ve lived half my life thinking I wasn't enough. That I was broken. That I'd have to fight forever for every scrap. But when you look at me…” She grasped his face gently, her thumbs slowly sliding across his cheek bones. Those damn eyes of hers taking him hostage. “I can see it in your gorgeous grey eyes, Jon. You don't see that girl. You see  _ me,”  _ she whispered. 

Next he knew, she was straddling his lap and his arms were wrapped around her tiny waist. Her fingers ran into his hair, nails lightly scraping over his scalp. He felt chilled and feverish all at once. Burning, while his icy walls melted away. “You know it all now, but you still see me,” she pressed on. “Just like I see you. Not the boy with no mother. Not the orphan. Not the prisoner. Just you. Just Jon.”

_ Just Jon.  _

He wasn't sure he knew who that was anymore. But if that's who she needed he’d figure out a way to find him. To be a better man. For her. And for himself. 

It hurt to breathe. He slipped his hand up her spine and into her hair. Palmed the back of her head. Brought her closer. She was a breath away, her lips just grazing his. He couldn't contain one last fear. “I don't want to hurt you,” he whispered, his voice catching. 

Her hands slid down to his waist. Slow fingers gathered his shirt in their grip, dagging it up, tickling and teasing. Whiskey had fucking nothing on her. She was holding him down, her hips over his, but he still felt as if he was flying. 

“Do you think I'm ever going to let anyone hurt me again?” she asked.

“No.”

“Then no more excuses.” She freed him from his shirt in one effortless pull and tossed it away. Her hips ground over his and he gave a groan, his cock pulsing almost painfully. “You want me, so have me,” she breathed, her plush lips taking his bottom one between them. “Let me have you.”

Unable to resist her another moment, Jon took her sweet mouth for his own. Swept his tongue against hers, growing light-headed at her responding whimper. Ravenous, as she suckled it with almost vulgar greed. Half of him wanted to toss her onto her back and fuck her until there was nothing left of either of them. The other wanted to lay her down and worship her for weeks. 

He’d let her decide.

She had relieved him of his shirt so he did the same for her, tossing her sweater to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck, gasping for air, his own arm going around her waist and pulling her tight against his chest, his other hand cupping her face as he continued to drink from her mouth. Impatient fingers slid into the curls at his nape . She surged forward, wanting more, and he opened his mouth to her. He moaned, her skin was hot beneath his hands, but not as scorching as her tongue sliding against his own.

“Dany…” his lungs struggled for air, weak and wrecked, head fucking spinning from the feel of her against him. The heat. The softness. The  _ need _ unbelievably as intense as his own. But something else was there with them. Between them. Icy cold and sharp, tapping at his skull, keeping him from sinking into the fire with her. “Dany, wait.”

“What is it?” she panted, lips and tongue now sucking at his neck. 

His hips rose, lifted her so that he had to chase her with his hands and mouth. Draw her back down to keep drinking her in. 

“Can we…” 

She rocked against him again, her hot little hands sliding up his chest, palms brushing over his nipples and his eyes fucking rolled back in his head. 

_ Fuck! _

“I want—”

_ What did he fucking want? Her. All of her. But…  _

“Tell me, Jon. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” he grunted. “ _ Godsdamn _ I want you, but…” 

Where his sudden restraint came from he’d never know, but he held to it as if his life depended on it and gently cupped her face and held her back. Got her to focus. He saw her, perfectly wrecked—lips kiss swollen to a ripe pink, cheeks flushed, those damn eyes of hers a smokey purple haze he never wanted free of.

“I don't have anythin’,” he finally managed. Nodded between them. Waited until it clicked for her, until her beautiful face lit with realization.

She grinned and his heart did a wild flip. “I'm on the pill, we don't have to have anything else.”

“Oh… Okay, that—” A shudder ran through him at just the thought of feeling her slick heat wrapped around him with nothing between them. And Dany was kissing him again. Peppering his cheek, up to his ear. He pulled away again, trying to fucking focus. “That's good, great actually, but I… I don't— I don't want…”

_ Fucking hells, Snow! Get it together!  _

Her hands came up and cupped his face just as he had hers. “Hey, breathe. It's alright. Whatever it is it's alright. Just tell me.”

“When…  _ If  _ we do this…” He drew in a breath and forced the words out in a rush. “I don't want to be drunk on anythin’ else but you.”

He’d squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like an utter fool, but he felt her response… Felt her sink into him, melt over him like candy left in the sun too long. Fingertips grazed his cheek and he cracked his eyes open. With a flash of white teeth and curved lips, she sighed. Her fingers slid back into his hair and her mouth was a whisper against his. He clutched her tighter, because he couldn't not. 

“What am I supposed to do with you, Jon Snow?” she breathed.

“Whatever the fuck you want… When we're not drunk.”

She giggled softly. “I think I can work with that.”

He pulled back and eyed her, not believing. “You're not mad?”

She shook her head, smiling sweetly. “How could I be when you say stuff like that?”

“Like what?”

Her nose bumped his. “You don't want to be drunk on anything else but me.”

Relief washed through him and he deflated with a sigh. Her smile grew and he took her beautiful face in his hands again. He still wasn't sure how she was there. In his lap, half dressed, smiling like he had just made her day. His imagination hadn't come close to the real thing. “You're all I’ve been drunk on for weeks,” he breathed out.

She blushed.  _ Godsdamn, she blushed.  _ While his heart soared a smile hid her pretty eyes. She ducked her head, but he didn't let her hide. He brushed her hair back and brought her eyes back to his. She kissed him stupid until they were left gasping for air, their foreheads resting against each other.

“We have a problem,” she whispered.

A thread of panic squirmed to life in his gut. He tried not to let it leak into his voice. “What’s that?”

“I can't go home.”

All the air rushed out of him, relief swelling up and taking him again. He shook his head. “No. You can't. No way I’m lettin’ you behind the wheel.”

Her lips twitched and she pulled them between her teeth, her eyes dancing with mischief. He could only stare at her, still utterly gobsmacked at his fortune. She cleared her throat, a more serious expression taking over her face. “Shall I sleep on the couch then?”

“Please don't,” he answered far too quickly and with far too much desperation. 

She smiled in earnest then and settled into him further. His cock gave a jolt at the added pressure and heat. If she noticed she thankfully didn't let on. “Where do you want me to sleep?”

He knew he shouldn't ask, but he did anyway. “With me? Right here?”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

“Yeah.”

She slid her arms slowly back around his neck. “Okay. I have one or two requests though…”

“Anythin’.”

“Aspirin, more food, and lots of water.” 

He pulled a face, not expecting that answer in the least. 

She chuckled at him, a finger twirling around a lock of his hair. “I don't plan on either of us being hungover tomorrow,” she murmured before stealing a quick kiss. “And…” Another kiss. Slower. Softer.  _ “Especially _ not drunk.”

_ Fucking hells. _

His hands grasped her tighter, pulled her closer. Rocked her over his cock, aching and desperate in his tight jeans.  _ Just a few more hours. Just a few more. _ He swallowed hard, and pressed his face into her neck, warm and fragrant, kissed the sweet skin beneath her ear. Relished in her moaning sigh. “Got plenty of water, some food, but no aspirin.”

“There's some in the office downstairs. I’ll go get it.”

“I can.”

“You don't know where it is,” she countered as she pulled away and crawled out of his lap, leaving him feeling cold and empty. 

Already an addict. Not that he cared. 

“And you're not very stable on your feet either,” she added. “I’ll get it and be right back.”

“Hurry.”

She threw him a smile over her shoulder as she headed for the stairs in nothing but her jeans and lacy bra. Her feet bare, sweater still in a fluffy spill on his floor.

His vision blurred as she disappeared, his mind overwhelmed. A riot of thoughts darting in and out of an intoxicated haze. He couldn’t seem to catch them for longer than a blink, until one slipped through the cloudy mess and stood still.

She  _ was _ made of jagged broken pieces. Just like him. And the hope he’d had… that her pieces might fit together with his… it felt as if for once in his gods forsaken life that hope might actually be more than ash and dust slipping through his fingers. That it might become something  _ real _ . Something he could touch. Hold onto. 

Trust in.

Fear still had its claws in him. The whiskey hadn't completely dulled that. Trouble would find them. There was no way Aerys would let them be at peace. So maybe it was just a fool’s hope. But he didn't care. It was the only one he had and he was determined to hang onto it as long as he could. 

He laid back down and looked out the windows. The grey sky was turning blue, just a hint of pink creeping up beneath it. Dawn had finally come. 

He let his eyes fall closed. He’d rest till she got back. They could go out and watch the sunrise like she wanted. The stairs creaked, one, then another and another. He waited until her steps drew near the bed. “The sun's almost up,” he mumbled.

“I see that.”

He rolled his head toward her. Pried his eyes open. They widened at what she had in her hands. “You brought pretzels."

Her laughter was immediate but he didn't care, sitting up and taking the two she was holding out for him. He scarfed them down faster than was rational, Dany grinning at him as she nibbled at her own. She tossed him a bottle of pills as soon as he finished and went to his little kitchen. She was back with a glass of water and one of his shakes soon after. 

He threw back a few pills and washed them down. Drained the shake carton dry. “Wanna go watch it rise?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “The sun? That was the plan, wasn't it?” she mused.

“Aye.” 

She grinned again as her hands went to the waistband of her jeans. “How about we just stay right here?” she murmured. His eyes were caught in a trap. Watching her every move. The button pulled undone, the zipper sliding slowly down. Hands slipping beneath tight denim. Hips wiggling as she shoved them lower. Pale skin, thick thighs. “Watch it out the window? How about that?”

Words were beyond him so he didn't even try to answer. She'd stolen all his senses standing there in black and burgundy lace. Every curve fucking perfection. Even as whiskey-soaked as he was, his blood rushed south. 

He could only gape as she dropped to her hands and knees and crawled up the bed, eyeing the waist of his own jeans. “You wanna take yours off too? You’ll sleep better.”

He might have nodded, he wasn't exactly sure, but she was freeing him from them a moment later. Her hands brushed over his hard cock more than once as she worked. His face was on fire. The air refusing his lungs. Every muscle locked down. 

“Lift your hips for me,” she encouraged and somehow his body complied. The rest of him was floating off into an astral plane he wasn't sure existed. Hovering above and watching her slide his jeans from his hips. Over the bulge in his briefs and down his thighs. 

It wasn't until she settled into his side that he came back to himself, her skin scalding and soft against his a sudden and stunning shock. His arms went around her and pulled her close without thought, almost an instinct taking over. She tucked her head beneath his chin, her hand stroking over his stomach. Thumb tracing over one scar, then another, and another. Reflex had him wanting to grab it and stop her, but he waited it out. Rolled closer and wrapped himself around her, pressed his face into her hair, breathing in her summery scent, letting it ground him. 

“Sleep, Jon,” she whispered, her thigh sliding up and over until her leg twined with his. Her hand running along his spine. 

His eyes were burning again. His throat knotted. He swallowed and nuzzled deeper into her silky hair. “I'm afraid if I do I'll wake up and find out this was just a dream.”

She placed a kiss on his chest, her arms holding him tighter. “I’ll be here to tell you it was real.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. I'm Melting Darling and I Can't Let Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The slow burn comes to an end by way of sweetness and smut and fluff and feels. And just a sprinkling of angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all. I'm back after a small hiatus that wasn't really taken voluntarily. My body and mind insisted, but I think I have them back on track now. 
> 
> I hope this chapter is all you guys wanted it to be. I couldn't believe how hard it was to switch gears with these two even after two full chapters of emotional purging lol. My angst fiend self was fighting to wreck things, but I think I managed to keep her in check. For the most part. And hopefully I didn't push them too far into syrupy sweetness either. That's just not who these two are. I must give a HUGE shoutout to Frost for being a beta that always pushes me to be better with love, encouragement, and fun too! Thanks to her I deleted one whole scene and half of another, but after some rewrites that lasted into the wee hours of the morning, I actually love this chapter now. I knew these two were slipping from my fingers, but she effortlessly guided me right back to them. I love ya Frost!
> 
> I'm gonna go sniffle some now and let y'all read.
> 
> Enjoy, my dears!

_She is a little explosion of hope_

_Never turns the lights down low_

_She can go there if you want to though_

_There are no markings on her country roads_

_No signs that show the way back home_

_But when you get there, you won't wanna go_

_I've frozen over my desires_

_Covered up in virgin snow_

_But when I stand beside her_

_She burns, yeah, she burns_

_Like petrol soaked paper and fireworks_

_And I'm burning, I'm burning_

_I'm burning so deep that just breathing hurts_

_I'm melting darling and I can't let go_

_She likes to lay under the covers, oh_

_Pretend that everywhere's our home_

_Keeps me warm right to my very soul_

_We get so tangled up, it's hard to know_

_What is hers and what's my own_

_Vines at the bottom of an olive grove_

_I've frozen over my desires_

_Covered up in virgin snow_

_But when I stand beside her_

_She burns, yeah she burns_

_Like petrol soaked paper and fireworks_

_And I'm burning, I'm burning_

_I'm burning so deep that just breathing hurts_

_I'm melting darling and I can't let go_

_I'm melting darling and I can't let go_

_I'm melting darling and I can't let go_

_I've frozen over my desires_

_Covered up in virgin snow_

_But when I stand beside her_

_She burns, yeah, she burns_

_Like petrol soaked paper and fireworks_

_And I'm burning, yeah I'm burning_

_I'm burning so deep that just breathing hurts_

_I'm melting darling, I can't let go_

_I'm melting darling, I can't let go_

_I'm melting darling, I can't let go_

**_She Burns - Foy Vance_ **

**  
  
**

Pain pulled him out of his oblivion. Something he wasn’t unfamiliar with. But he realized soon enough it was far from the usual _—_ _you were beat half to death_ _—_ kind he woke up to after a fight. This was an altogether different sort of pain caused by another demon if his vague memories were correct.

The iron band cinched around his head. Eyeballs ready to pop. That godsawful rancid taste in his mouth that would take all day to get rid of. And maybe, worst of all; the churning cavern of nausea that was his stomach. 

Only one thing caused such a lovely assortment of fucking misery.

_Whiskey._

Question was, how much did he have, and fucking _why?_

He rolled over with a moan, taking a pillow with him, the bloody sun too bloody bright to cope with. The movement did nothing to help his suffering, but the sweet scent of lemons and flowers invading his head certainly had an affect. 

It damn near stopped his heart.

He bolted upright and regretted it instantly. Groaning as he grabbed his head and pressed the heel of his hands over his throbbing eyes. A useless attempt to ease the spinning and pain. He had much worse things to deal with anyway. Dread was bubbling up from his gut as the night came crawling back through his sleep-fogged haze.

Dany at the center of it all.

Vis hurting her. His fist meeting Vis’s face. The arguing. The kissing. The confessions. Dany’s. His. And whiskey. So much fucking whiskey.

_Bloody fucking hells. What had he done?_

He dared a glance through his fingers, looking for her as he slid his hands down his face, his heart and stomach a tangled mess. 

An empty bed and silence was all that greeted him. He looked around, hoping. Strained to listen for any little creak or pop, a footstep. Anything to tell him she had stayed. That he was worth staying for.

But there was nothing, and no one, save for his pounding heart and harsh breath. And an old familiar feeling.

Acceptance.

She’d left. Decided like all the rest her life would be better without him in it. And he couldn't even bring himself to blame her. It was nothing but the truth. 

If only the fucking truth didn't hurt so godsdamn much. 

He laid back down, his body not giving him much of a choice. Pressing his face into her pillow was, despite how he wished for oblivion to take him again, to help him forget. 

But he knew he never would. 

Even then she danced behind his aching eyes. A dream so real he could still feel her heat. Hear her laughter, see her tears. Breathe in her gasps of pleasure. Flashes and flickers were all he remembered of their night. Scattered as they were, none of them made sense. Quite a few of them weren’t anything he _wanted_ to hang onto. But it was the missing pieces that terrified him. 

_What had he said? What had he done?_

The anxiety forced him upright, making him feel like he was coming out of his fucking skin. He scrubbed at his face, and hair. His chest. Kneaded at his sweaty neck while his gut twisted and squirmed. His heart a wild beast beneath its scar. 

_Fuck,_ he needed a cigarette. 

He stumbled over to his jeans, piled on top of his boots at the foot of his bed. Searched the pockets. Nothing. The coffee table, the sofa… Still nothing. He was almost desperate enough to go through the butts in his ashtray, but kept up his search just in case he—

Something bright caught his eye on the milk crate beside his mattress. A makeshift nightstand. He stepped over, squinting. It was a piece of paper. Small, one edge torn at a haphazard angle. Loopy handwriting covered most of it.

Heart hammering, he snatched it up.

_Hey sleepy head,_

_I know I promised to be here when you woke up, but we slept so late I’ve had to go check on my boys. I didn't have the heart to wake you. Just wanted you to know I wasn't skipping out on you. I’ll be back soon and I’ll get us some food while I’m out too. You didn't have much in the fridge. I put your toothbrush back upstairs and there's more aspirin and water on the bedside if your head is hurting._

_See ya in a bit,_

_Dany_

It was innocent enough, nothing really there to read into one way or another, but it still had his heart feeling as if it was a shook up can of soda. Too full and ready to erupt at the slightest provocation. 

He read her note twice more before carefully folding it as he slumped against the wall, his legs weak with relief. 

She hadn't left. _She hadn't left._ She was coming back.

_Fuck. She was coming back._

He grabbed the water and aspirin and ran up the stairs, straight to the loo. He needed a shower. 

Swallowing down a mouthful of pills and water, he tucked her note onto the top shelf of his medicine cabinet for safekeeping before turning on the shower. Next was getting the rot off his tongue. His toothbrush was on the sink in its usual spot. Where she’d left it for him. 

More memories surfaced as he picked it up. 

He'd nearly puked on her shoes and fell on the floor when she urged him through the window. She’d brought him water and mouthwash. Toast and his toothbrush. 

He grinned as he ran it under the water, squirted a mountain of toothpaste on it and stuck it in his mouth. Stripped off his briefs, and stepped into the shower. 

The hot water was bliss, and helped clear more of the fog from his aching brain, but it did nothing for his tense muscles. His nerves were wrenching them tighter and tighter every minute that passed. He wracked his dulled mind trying to remember all they’d said and done during the night. They’d gotten themselves nearly nude, he knew that, gasping and grasping at one another. Not once, but twice. The memories were hazy, but still enough to have his cock coming back to life, eager for more. He could still feel how her silky soft curves filled his hands. Kissing her luscious mouth as she did the same to his. Her hands fisted in his hair as he sucked on her perfect tits. The heated cradle of her hips tight against his. Her moans and sighs and whimpers.

_Fucking hells,_ he wanted it all again. And then some. 

But _gods_ his damn nerves. Without the whiskey loosening his doubts and dreads he felt frozen. A virgin all over again. Racing heart. Twisted stomach. The near constant ache in his balls. Cock rigid and throbbing with want. No doubt ready to spill at the lightest touch from her soft hand. Or even under the gaze of her velvet eyes.

The smart thing to do would be to release some of the pressure. To smooth the edge off. Keep him from making a fool of himself later.

_But what if that wasn't even what she was coming back for?_

He twisted the shower handle to cold and sucked in a gasping breath as it did exactly as he’d hoped. Banked the fire roaring in him until it was time to set it alight again. If it ever would be. He scrubbed quick, rinsed quicker, and got out. Finally took a much needed piss and was rubbing the water out of his hair when the clang of a pot froze him stiff. 

A soft humming reached him next. 

She was back. She was there. Right under his feet.

And dumb fuck he was, he hadn't even brought any clothes upstairs. Only the thin, threadbare towel in his hands. 

_Fuck!_

He searched the empty bedroom for something better, knowing it was pointless. The bathroom was just as useless. Nothing for it—he certainly couldn't go down naked—he tied the towel around his waist and padded over to the door and peeked out. She was at his stove. Dancing to music he couldn't hear. Her lithe little body swayed as she worked, the white wires of her earphones visible now and then. The spiky silver knot on top of her head bobbed along with her. 

Maybe he could sneak down and get on some sweats before—

“Let me be your everlasting liiiight!"

His smile was instant and uncontrollable. His lack of clothes forgotten, warmth spread through his chest, filling it full as she continued to sing out, high and clear.

“The suuuun when there is nnnnone. I'm a shepherd, for you, but I’ll guiiiide you through. Let me beeee, your everlasting liiiight.”

He’d heard her sing before. In the wee hours of the morning, down in the bar while the stereo blared, Missy belting it out right along with her. But he’d never heard her voice alone. Without the music drowning it out. The pitch was soft and sweet and smooth. He felt it swirl deep in his belly.

“Let me beeee, your everlasting light. I'll hoooold and never scooold. In me you can confide, when no one's by your side. Let me beeee your everlasting liiiight!”

She spun around and began chopping up a hunk of ham that was resting on his counter. He didn't move for fear he’d catch her attention and she'd stop. He never wanted her to. Even with a knife in her hand, her hips rocked, encased perfectly by her tight leggings. The shirt she wore was hanging off one rolling shoulder. It was bare, no bra strap in sight. If the pale expanse of skin hadn't beckoned to him, the bounce of her tits free of any restraint as she twisted about would have. 

He was on the third step when her eyes caught him. She smiled, real and radiant, leaving him frozen in place, the awestruck fool he was. 

She stared for a long moment, taking him in slowly from head to toe and back again before winking and kept on with her singing, her eyes never leaving his as she started dancing again. “Oh baby, can't you seeee? It's shining just for youuuu. Loneliness is over. Daaaark daaays are throuuugh. They're throuuugh.”

The words pulled him towards her as if he were on a string. _Had she done it on purpose? Picked that song, with those words? Waited for him to time it just right?_ The way her eyes tracked his every step, bright and enticing, he thought she might have. His own personal sun drawing him in. A moth to the flame. No more darkness. Only light. Her light. 

A tremor ran down his spine. Set his heart to racing. His blood hot. Pumping a riot in his veins.

He hoped she didn't notice his fists clenching, the nervous tick needed to cover the storm of emotions she was stirring in him.

She stopped singing. Stopped dancing. Her smile slipping into something else entirely. Something heated and hungry. Overwhelmed. She laid the knife down. Pulled the earphones free and discarded them and her phone to the counter just as he rounded it. Gave a sharp inhale as he took her face in his hands. 

“Tell me you want this.”

She grasped hold of his wrists and she drew herself closer, a breath away. “Don't you dare stop.” 

He drank her down like she was the last he’d ever have. Teeth and tongue and lips taking and giving. She'd banished his fears and doubts for the time being and he would not waste the freedom. Dany was as desperate as him. Her own mouth sucking and pulling at his as her arms went around him. Hands clasping at his back, nails scraping over his skin. 

The air was gone between them. Bodies pressed together, groping and grinding. She dropped her head back as he worked his way down her neck. Nipped at the fragrant skin. He could eat her whole and knew he'd never be satisfied. 

“Jon…” she gasped. “The stove… food.”

He had to lock himself down to let her go. Teeth clenched. Chest heaving. Their eyes caught and he nearly snatched her up again, the want residing in her own was so raw. He heard metal scrape on metal. A knob clicked. Then she was back and they picked up right where they left off. An explosion of need. Hands everywhere. Mouths tasting. Whimpers and moans swallowed.

He wanted to slow down. Take his time learning every inch of her. But neither of them seemed capable. Both clinging to the edge of sanity after weeks of wanting.

And he was _afraid._ Afraid if he took a breath she might disappear. That he'd finally wake up and know it was all a dream. He didn't want any more dreams. He wanted memories. To make them, good or bad, with her.

No longer satisfied feeling her curves through her clothes, he slipped his hands under her shirt and around her ribs. 

She squealed and laughed at once against his mouth and shuddered. “Cold!”

“Sorry,” he grunted, but did nothing to relieve her, his hands sliding further up her dangerously soft skin. Cupping her perfect tits in his palms. Squeezing. Kneading. Taking the hard little tips between finger and thumb and pinching. Pulling. 

“Jon…”

The breathy moan of his name on her lips was as good as a double shot of whiskey. His head spun. His cock twitched. His blood burned. He yanked her top off, greedy for more of her. Took advantage of her dazed state and picked her up, depositing her on the counter to better feast on her. 

The hazy memories of the night before hadn't done her justice. She couldn't have been more perfect. Kiss swollen lips, pink and pouty. Her neck already marked red by his scruffy beard. Lidded lavender eyes dark with need. Her breaths labored. 

His hands shaped her. Waist and ribs and tits. Weighed them. Marveled at their softness, the way they filled his hands. The furled and dusky nipples teasing his palms. 

“You're bloody beautiful, you know that?”

“Just like you,” she answered with a dreamy smile, legs and hands hooking him and pulling him into her. 

Her skin was scalding hot against his icy chest. He mapped it with palms and mouth, letting it melt him. Burn him. Her lips, her jaw, her ear, Neck and shoulders. The hollow of her throat. And further still until he found the velvet soft skin of her breasts and sucked a pebbled nipple between his lips and teased and tormented it with his tongue until she whimpered and writhed. Switched to the other until he wondered if she might fall over the edge then and there. Desperate cries, grasping hands. Her gorgeous body struggling against his even as she pressed him closer. Urged him on. 

She didn't need to worry. He was nowhere near done with her. He wanted to taste her. To lap up the mess he was making of her. To feel her tender cunt swollen and trembling around his fingers as she lost herself. 

Just thinking about it had him ready to spill, his eyes rolling back in his head. Lights flickering behind them. He was done waiting. 

He unwrapped her ankles from around him and stood back. Grinned at her petulant pout before reaching out and slipping his fingers beneath the waist of her leggings. The satiny edge of her panties. Dany caught on quick and leaned back on her hands and lifted her hips for him, teeth buried in her bottom lip. Eyes threatening to set him on fire. He yanked, stripped her bare in a blink. A yelp escaped her, her arse bouncing off the counter from the force of it. Tits swaying. She caught herself and opened for him. Creamy, thick thighs spreading. Inviting him with the sight of her glistening cunt all puffy and pink and pearled. It was almost his downfall.

He couldn't breathe. Heart tripping a riot behind his sternum. The deep ache heavy between his own thighs. Cock surging and throbbing. Insisting he close in on her.

He ran his hands up her thighs, the skin buttery soft. She grabbed him by the nape, took a fistful of his curls, and pulled him in for another kiss. Famished and furious. While she kept his mouth busy, his fingers searched. Found the beating center of her with ease. Damp, spongy curls and the slick heat beneath them. _Gods,_ she was so fucking wet. So godsdamn soft and scorching hot. His knees nearly buckled.

He’d never needed or wanted anything so fucking bad in his life. 

“Can I taste you, Dany?” he pleaded, not recognizing his own voice. The husk, the raw clawing want in it. 

Her entire body trembled against his. A desperate whine sounded in her throat. “Gods, Jon. Yes. _Please,"_ she begged. 

Unwilling to waste a single second he gently urged her to lean back and bent over her the moment she did. Her scent hit him and sent him reeling. A feral growl ripped from his chest and he grabbed her under one knee, throwing it over his shoulder, opening her wide and took his first taste. A swipe from cleft to clit with the flat of his tongue. Dany cried out while every muscle he had clenched and shuddered at her tangy sweetness. Honeyed fruit, just on the verge of ripe. He’d dreamed of it. Tasting her. To feel her thighs quiver against him, to hear her keen and cry at each drag of his tongue. Her moans as he pulled her clit into his mouth and tortured it.

To finally have it all was a thousand times better. All he’d imagined and more. Her sweet musk filled his head. Her folds swollen and slippery and hot against his hungry mouth. Whether he was just that lucky or she was just that ready, his attentions already had her shaking, a hand fisted in his hair, hips rising to meet him. To draw him closer. He wanted it to last forever. Would happily spend hours feasting between her luscious thighs if she'd let him. Greedy and ravenous, never getting his fill. Though he’d never stop trying. 

He dipped his tongue into all her soft spaces. Learning what made her cry out, what made her thighs tremble. Her hips grind. He drank her down. Lapped at the excess, smearing it around. Dragging up swollen folds, first one side, then the other. Took a mouthful of her. Gently sucking on the plump, ripe, slickened flesh. 

“Jon. Oh... Gods, Jon… More,” she gasped, her grip on his hair painful.

He didn't care. She wanted more and he’d gladly give it to her. He sealed his mouth around her hard little clit, sucking it tight and lashing it with his tongue. She cried out. Hips rising, back arching. Something primal rose up in him as he watched her. It needed to shatter her. Wanted to push her to the breaking point so he could put her back together again. He didn't deny it. He slipped two fingers through her soaked, silken folds and deep within her velvet heat. He wasn't sure which of them moaned the loudest. Feeling her tight walls pulse and pull him in, nearly blinded him. Clasping and clutching at him as he pushed and pulled. Stretched her. Filled her.

She was right there. Hands pressing his mouth tighter to her, hips straining forward, rocking, back arched, thighs trembling. She had her head thrown back. Plush lips puffy and bruised from their violent kisses. Open in a silent cry. He let her teeter on the brink for as long as she could stand it. Until his cock throbbed viciously in jealousy. 

He doubled down. Worked her harder with his fingers. Hooked and tugged in short, rapid strokes. His tongue never slowing the lashing of her clit.

He had to grip her thigh to keep her from coming off the counter, and even then he had to follow as her body bowed and shook with the beginnings of her orgasm. Scalding walls quivering and swelling. Clamping down tight. A long, strangled cry left her, wild and shameless, her cunt and thighs a shuddering vice around his fingers and head as she splintered apart. He didn't let up, tormenting her until she had given him all of her she could. Eased her down as the tremors faded, stroking and licking at her gently until she shoved him away. Until she collapsed into a limp spill of limbs. 

“Fucking hells, Jon,” she panted, her eyes sliding shut, lids fluttering. Wrecked and undone. Pert tits heaving. Skin flushed pink.

He'd done that to her, turned her into the sexiest sight he'd ever seen. He couldn't help but grin as he wiped a hand over his mouth, cleaning off her mess, his head still spinning with her scent. The taste of her still bright on his tongue. It was a drug he was already craving again.

He only gave her a moment before he peeled her off the counter and gathered her into his arms, too selfish to let her be. She fell against him with a satisfied sigh as he skated his palms over her back, warm and damp with sweat. Kissed her hair. Temple. Cheek. 

“You alright?” he whispered into her ear.

She gave a silly chuckle and sat up, looking as if she'd had a nice dose of painkillers. “What the hells was that?”

His face flamed, but for once he didn't let it bother him. He rewarded himself instead with handfuls of her gorgeous arse while kissing his way up her neck and to her ear. “Just somethin’ I've wanted to do for a while,” he husked.

A shiver ran through her but she recovered quickly, her hands slipping between them and tugging his towel off. “Been thinking about it a lot have you?” she murmured as she took hold of his cock. 

His knees gave a little, the feel of her hand around him almost more than he could take. It'd been so fucking long since he felt anything but his own. She was smaller of course. Her touch softer. So much sweeter.

She gave him a gentle twisting tug. Grip firm. Her thumb teasing the sensitive head. He groaned. Her breath was hot in his ear and he was gonna spill right there all over her hand. “How much have you thought about it, Jon?” 

He grabbed her hand and stilled it. “Fuck Dany, have mercy. It's been too long,” he begged.

She squeezed him, smiling against his cheek. “Tell me, Jon. Did you make this thick cock come thinking about me?” 

“Aye, more than I should've,” he admitted with a grunt, every muscle locked down. He was hanging by a thread. So fucking hard it hurt.

She was on him again. A hand grasping his hair, another drawing nails up his back, scoring his skin. Her mouth attacking his. Sucking and biting at his lips. Thighs wrapped around him tight. Wet cunt grinding against his stomach. 

He was gonna black the fuck out the moment he got inside her. Die right then and there, but he was more than alright with it.

“Bed, Jon. Take me to the bed,” she demanded, panting and heaving.

“I won't last.”

“I don't care. We’ll just do it again.” 

_Fuuuuuck._

She climbed him and he helped, gathering her up, nowhere near able to get her close enough even with her clinging to him. He swallowed down her whimpers as they kissed each other like people possessed, their teeth clashing, and lips bruising, neither able to get the upper hand.

Her hips ground into his, with each step he took. His cock was so hard and throbbing between them he felt dizzy with the blood loss. How the hells he got them to the bed he’d never know, but he laid her down like the coveted gift she was and the sight was the most glorious thing he'd ever seen. Bare and curved and eager. His silver girl. 

She pulled him down and kissed him fiercely, gasping and grinding her hips up against him. Sliding her slick cunt over his cock. “Fuck me, Jon. Now. Hurry.”

Denying her wasn't an option. He pressed himself over her, molded his body to hers and all he felt was heat. Fire. Flames. Her hot skin melting into his, sending a fever deep into his bones. She whimpered and writhed, spreading her liquid fire over his cock and he squeezed his eyes closed. He wasn't even going to make it inside her.

“Dany… Please,” he groaned and grunted, grappling to hang on. 

She stilled, finally taking mercy on him. Fingernails scraped through his scruff. “Look at me,” she whispered.

He braced his hands beside her head and pushed himself upright, forced himself to open his eyes, even though he feared the moment he did he’d come just from the sight of her. 

It was a near thing. He had the sudden and horrible urge to cry she was so fucking beautiful staring up at him, her eyes welled up with as much emotion as he felt. 

She smiled and stroked his cheek again. “You took care of me. Let me take care of you. I don't care if it's quick. We have all the time we want. All day and all night. Tomorrow too, and every day after.”

_Every day after._

Having left him stunned she was the one to reach between them and take his cock in hand. To slide him through her slick folds and line him up. She gave a mewling gasp, her eyes fluttering shut at the pleasure and he was lost. 

He found home in one driving snap of his hips. Buried himself deep. Dany cried out, her fingers and nails digging into his shoulders as a sound he didn't know he was capable of ripped from his chest. He shuddered from head to toe. She was a velvet snare made of flame around him, so hot and tight and wet he knew he was dying again. He welcomed it. Hoped she'd never release him. Hoped her body would fuse and meld to his so he’d never know anything else. Never be alone again, and neither would she.

She moved, impatient with his stalling, walls rippling and pulling at him as her moans slid down his spine, sparking him from his stupor. He drove deeper, retreated, shivered against the staggering pleasure, hanging onto his control by the thinnest of threads. 

She said she didn't care, but he did. Was determined to wait, to not fall without her falling first. At least he would try his damnedest.

He slipped a hand beneath her knee, spread her wide, fingers gripping her thigh to ground himself, and thrust into her again, deep and slow. Again, and again, her whimpering soon driving him to a harder and faster pace. 

Then she was pressing herself up, grinding against his thrusts, the very depths of her circling, squeezing the head of his cock. His world started to spin, the intense pressure at the base of his spine spreading out dangerously. Burning. Building.

“Dany…”

She bucked harder. Faster. “Don't wait for me,” she gasped and slid her hand between them. Fingertips running over her clit, bumping against his cock with every thrust he made.

He couldn't stop himself from looking down, watching her, and nearly went blind at seeing himself disappear into her welcoming cunt, over and over, as she pleasured herself, the lewd wet sounds spinning him tighter. Higher. Closer. 

“Dany.”

“Cum, Jon. Cum for me.”

He broke. 

The unbearably tight coil within him snapped. All of him shattering and splintering into a thousand blissful pieces. Spilling. Shuddering. Shivering.

Dany lost herself too. Following him into the void, a quivering, convulsing fire burning him to ash. Draining him dry. Leaving him limp.

She was still whimpering, fluttering around him with aftershocks when he collapsed on top of her. He melted into her and her arms came up and held him close. Hands ran over his back, fingers through his hair, brushing the still wet mess off his face and neck as he worked to get his breathing under control. Her heart was a quick but steady pulse beneath his ear that lulled him into a deeper dream. 

It was kisses pressed to his forehead that finally pulled him back to awareness. That had his brain kicking into gear again. Realizing he was probably crushing her he forced himself up on his forearms and stared down at her in awe. Threaded his fingers into her silky hair. 

A slow smile took over her gorgeous face. Lush lashes giving a lazy blink. Eyes soft. Cheeks flushed. The sight of her was a punch to his heart. Sent it into painful squeezing beats. On reflex he coughed to urge it back into a normal rhythm. Sometimes it worked.

“You alright?” she whispered, a fingertip tracing his jaw, her brow furrowed.

“Yeah,” he wheezed and gave one more deep cough. Finally the pain eased, the queer beat ceasing and the normal one fading into the background where it belonged. Feeling like a fool, he turned back toward her and smiled, sheepish. “You alright?” he asked. She had a furious little scowl on her face. 

“You smoke too much,” she fussed.

He laughed and shook his head. “Wasn't my lungs. I'm fine, don't worry.” 

The story of his literal broken heart could be saved for another time, he was too busy staring at her in wonder. “I can't believe you're here,” he whispered, voice cracked.

Her smile returned, soft and sweet. A hand slipped around his neck and cupped the side of it, nails scratching at his nape, her thumb running over his scruffy jaw. “I'm here,” she echoed.

He nuzzled back into her neck, mouthing at her warm, fragrant skin. She smelled so damn good. Like everything sweet and safe. He wanted to drown in her even though it felt as if he already had. Or still was. He’d lost himself to her completely, had given over to his urges and wants without restraint. Actual thought had been left by the wayside.

_Fuck! What if he'd sucked? What if it hadn't been good for her?_

“Tell me how you are,” he dared to ask. “Tell me I didn't do you wrong.”

She took a hand full of his hair and gently tugged until he lifted his head up and looked at her again. She was shaking hers. “You didn't even come close to doing me wrong. I’m the best I’ve been in a long time,” she told him softly, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth.

He wanted to speak, to tell her he was too, but he suddenly couldn't seem to get any more words past his throat. So he gathered her up and kissed her instead as he fought back the emotions running rampant in him. Her mouth. Her forehead, her cheek. Back down to her neck and further still to her collarbone. Soft and slow tastes, finally taking his time. Learning every dip and curve, finding all the sweet spots. 

Pleased moans were the first of his rewards, and more followed. Her incredible body shifted beneath and around him, fingers delving into his hair, back arching, breasts pressing into his chest. Hips rolling against his, his cock still wrapped in her glorious slick heat. He’d barely softened at all. 

Being in her arms, her being in his… Nothing had ever been better. Or felt more right. He could barely breathe; the feeling so new he wasn't sure what to do with it. He wanted to run to the top of the roof and scream it for all to hear just as much as he wanted to curl around her and weep like a baby. It was mortifying how much closer he was to the latter.

Nails gently raked against his scalp, lips brushing at the shell of his ear. “You sure you're alright?”

He’d buried his face in her neck without thought. Hiding in her, soaking in all he could. But she deserved an answer. He finally made himself face her, pulling away and gazing down at her again. It wasn't any less overwhelming than it had been before but he drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Yeah,” he managed, only to stumble over the rest, “I just don't have words— I can't—” 

Her brow twisted up and she took mercy on him, a finger pressed to his lips, something in her eyes speaking to him before any words left her. “You don't have to,” she whispered, “I know.”

She did. He could see it. 

_You see me, just like I see you._

Thank all the gods she pulled him back against her chest before the tears building in his eyes could spill over. They laid quietly for a long while. Just holding each other, hands and fingers stroking soft and slow over bare skin. Through messy hair. Legs tangled. Hearts beating in near tandem. 

He wasn't sure how he was ever going to let her go. The thought of her even leaving his arms to go back to the kitchen was distressing enough, let alone knowing she’d eventually have to go back home. 

Her chest rose with a slow inhale, lifting him with it. She released it with a sigh. “I should probably go to the loo.”

_Dumbarse. Of course she needed to._

He popped up onto his hands and finally slipped free of her. “Sorry. Hang on. I’ll get you a towel first.” He was up and on his feet before she could say anything but halfway to the kitchen a slow whistle had a rush of heat scorching through him and his feet faltering. 

“Jon Snow,” she called out with a low laugh, “you have the best arse ever created. Did you know that?”

Face on fire he threw her a disgruntled look over his shoulder. She just winked at him.

Despite himself he grinned and shuffled around the kitchen counter, snatched up his towel from the floor and wrapped it back around his hips before grabbing a clean dish towel from his measly stack and wetting one end of it. He squeezed out the excess and walked back to her. 

His heart gave a swooping flip. Stunned again to see her laying there, in _his_ bed, so beautifully bare and freshly fucked. Smiling at him. The world had surely been turned inside out. It was the only explanation he could come up with to explain his newfound fortune. Or maybe it had always been wrong side out and had finally righted itself. Either way, he was happy about it. 

She was grinning at him, a hand held up, so he dropped back down beside her and passed over the towel. 

She got to work cleaning up the mess they made of her. He did his best to keep his eyes on hers, not wanting to embarrass her. She wrinkled her nose, still grinning. “I kinda wish you had waited on that shower. We could've taken one together.”

_Bloody fuckin’ hells._

His balls were aching again at just the thought of having her wet and naked. Her hot, slippery skin against his. Finally in the place he’d imagined her so often. He licked his lips and tried not to grin. “I could always take another one?”

She laughed, loud and long and then kissed him, her laughter muffled between them and mixed with his own before she pulled away. 

“Next time?” he offered. Maybe he hadn't sounded too hopeful.

Plump bottom lips held tight in her teeth, Dany gave him a nod and wink. “I think I’d like that.”

He got another quick kiss before she rolled over him and got to her feet. She helped herself to one of his sweatshirts he had stacked against the wall and slipped it over her head, hiding her gorgeous body from him. She reached up and took her hair down. Shook it out into full silver waves before she headed up the stairs. 

He watched her every move as she climbed them, her shapely arse cheeks peeking out from beneath the hem of the hoodie with each step she took. She disappeared all too soon. And he waited. Listened. The toilet flushed, the sink turned on and off. The towel ring squeaked. A floorboard or two creaked under soft steps. Then she appeared at the top of the stairs once more and smiled at him as she slowly descended. A goddess blessing him with her presence.

His heart was thumping hard again. A perfect mix of pain and pleasure. He couldn't help but wonder if he would even survive her. If the battered chunk of muscle in his chest might just up and quit from pure happiness. 

She laid back down beside him. Stretched herself along his side, a thigh thrown over his. He spread his palm over it, too needy not to let himself enjoy the feel of her. “Did I break you?” she asked with a smirk. “You look a little punch drunk,” she teased.

He chuffed. “That's how I feel.” Exasperated with himself he closed his eyes and shook his head. He really needed to get a hold of his foolish self. He rolled toward her. Grasped her thigh and hiked it over his hip. Slid his hand down to hers, over her arse, and up under the hoodie, along her spine as he stared into the violet haze of her eyes. “I imagined you here more than I should've, but this is better than anythin’ I ever came up with.”

She smiled softly and her hand came up, nails lightly scraping against his scalp as her fingers slid into his hair. It was still damp from his shower. The combination had a pleasant shiver running through him. “I imagined being here too,” she confessed barely above a whisper. His eyebrows went up in surprise. “I did,” she assured him. “I thought about coming up here with you after closing instead of leaving quite a few nights.”

“Just so you know; you can whenever you want.”

“I’ll remember that,” she murmured and leaned in, her plush mouth taking his in another kiss. Long and languid, filling every inch of him with heat. She pulled away all too soon. “What if I wanted you to come home with me?”

She’d stolen whatever senses he’d gained back so he couldn't do much more than blink at her. “What?”

“I can't leave my boys alone all night again,” she explained, her fingertips teasing his lips, dancing over them light as a feather, “but I don't want to leave you either.” Her big doe eyes flicked to his. “Come home with me.”

It was such a simple soft request, yet those four little words echoed through him as if she'd called out for him from a hollow darkness. It froze the air in his lungs. Sent his heart and nerves quivering with want and hope, and even fear. 

He had to cough again. Swallow down the sudden thickness in his throat before he could force his reply past it. “Yeah. I uh… I’ll have to be up early in the morning to go run and get to the gym, but yeah… ‘Course I will.” He hadn't been able to hold her gaze when he said it, but he couldn't stop himself from searching her face for a reaction. He was shocked to see her pleased, but also surprised. The relief so clear in her eyes he frowned at her. “You didn't think I'd say no did you?”

She gave a little shake of her head, her eyes falling to her hand resting over his scar. “No, but I didn't want to assume.”

“You can.”

Her eyes shot to his. “Can what?”

“Assume.” 

Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth again, a smile barely contained as her eyes dropped to his chest once more, a fingertip tracing the wolf permanently etched into his skin. Seeing her unsure, and then quietly thrilled for any bit of attention and affection was as good as a steel blade slipping past his ribs. She was worth so much more than the scraps she’d apparently been given. He had every intention of making her know it too.

He pulled her close and rolled them over, settling between her thighs again, smiling at the sudden widening of her eyes. He kissed her. Drank from her sweet mouth, slowly savoring the taste of her until they both needed air. Missing her immediately he settled for feeling how incredibly soft she was beneath his fingers, stroking them over her cheek and into her hair. He never wanted to stop touching her. Knew he'd never grow tired of it. “Whatever the question is, Dany… If you ask, the answer’s always gonna be yes.”

A true smile took her, wide and beautiful, eyes sparkling and nearly disappearing behind her flushed cheeks. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down, tucked her face into his neck and his into hers. “You might regret that,” she purred teasingly, her nails tickling at his nape, her teeth scraping his ear. 

He popped up onto his elbows and shook his head, serious despite the lust still running through him. “I regret a lot of things,” he rasped, “but I can promise you, you’ll never be one of them.”

A rush of air left her, almost as if his words had hit her. She looked happy and hurt all at once. “You gotta stop saying shit like that to me,” she whispered.

Panic gripped him. “What? What d’you mean?”

She smiled again, though it was soft and barely there, and cupped his face in her hands. “Nothing. Don't listen to me. Say everything you want, whenever you want.”

_“Okay…”_

She laughed at his confusion, but he didn't care. “I mean it,” she murmured. “Don't stop being you.” Her smile turned suddenly wicked and she winked at him. “All badass and broody on the outside and gooey and soft in the middle.”

He chuckled, finally relaxing again and sinking back into her. It was the truth so there was no point in denying it. “You, ah… sorta bring it out in me.”

One of her hands slowly slid around the back of his neck and she pulled him closer, their lips only a breath apart. “I’ll be sure to stick close to you then. That alright?” 

“Nothin’s ever sounded better,” he breathed out in a rush before kissing her as if his life depended on it. 

They quickly lost themselves in each other again. Hands grasping, mouths and teeth and tongues taking all they could. Both apparently on a mission to make up for the weeks they wasted. Until his stomach gave a monsterous growl that had her laughing again anyway. 

“You hungry?”

“Starving,” he sighed, wishing like hell he wasn't. He never wanted them to leave his bed.

She pecked his lips and lightly pinched his side. “Let me up then and I’ll go finish lunch for us.”

“I can help,” he offered, rolling off her and propping up on his elbows. 

She climbed to her feet and trailed her eyes up and down his body. He wanted to put his hands over his cock, which was rock hard again beneath the towel, but kept himself from it. She seemed to be appreciating the view, so who was he to deny her? “Put some pants on first,” she told him. “We ah… don't want anything getting burned you're gonna need later,” she murmured and walked off. 

He watched her, a stupid grin on his face.

_Fucking hells, he was so gone._

There wasn't a single chance in all seven hells of going back. He was hers whether she knew it or not. 

**  
  
**

—

**  
  
**

They made omelettes. Big fat ones filled with ham and cheese and tomatoes. He chopped and grated and handled the toast while she took over the actual cooking. 

Sitting down and quietly eating the meal they made together was just one more surreal moment he felt the need to tuck away. To save it so he could pull it out later and remember it all. 

Her laughter, her smile, her touch. How different it was to share a meal with a girl instead of dozens of grimy bastards who hated your guts. 

How good it felt to do something fucking _normal._

He needed a notebook. Or a camera. 

_Both. Both would be good._

Hungry as they were, their plates were soon bare and the blissful moment of normalcy was over. He helped her clean up their mess until she sent him off to pack a bag while she dried the dishes. Not needing much more than a change of clothes and his toothbrush, that didn't take long either. When he came back down the stairs she was dressed in her own clothes again and down on her hands and knees stripping the sheets off his bed. 

“Dany, what—”

“You got garbage bags we can put all this in?” she asked as she wadded them up and tossed them onto the rest of his dirty clothes piled on the floor. “I’ll wash them for you at my house.”

He pulled a face. “You don't have to do that. I can take ‘em to the gym and do ‘em.”

One haughty eyebrow went up. “On your bike?”

He hadn't really thought it through obviously and had to consider his options for a minute. He shrugged sheepishly. “I'm sure I can get Gendry to haul ‘em over for me sometime this week.”

“Yeah, and I can haul them to my house tonight and you can have them tomorrow.”

Biting back a grin he shuffled over to her and pulled her to her feet. “You really want to do my smelly laundry that bad?”

Her nose wrinkled. “You'll be handling the stinky stuff, not me.”

He laughed. “That would be all of it.”

She thought it over for a moment and smiled at him prettily. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”

He shook his head with a chuff. “Not so much these days.”

He got a kiss for that one.

Ten minutes later, his dirty laundry had been stuffed into two garbage bags and sat on her back seat, and he was following her out of the alley on his bike. The upper hand he’d gained in the fight against his nerves was drifting away. They were twisting tighter and tighter the closer they got to her place. 

He needed a cigarette. Or five. 

He’d never spent the night with a girl. Other than the few hours they had dozed on her couch. Which probably didn't count. And he had no clue if there were _rules_ he should know. A thousand different screw ups ran through his head before they got there, all making him feel sicker than the last. Thankfully the trip was a short one. He’d just follow her lead. Surely that would keep him from fucking anything up. 

He parked his bike and snatched the key out and pocketed it, not bothering to take his helmet off. She was already trying to pull both bags of his laundry out. He ran over to help and gently took her by the hips and moved her to the side. The bags were bigger than she was. 

“Let me do that. Why don't you get the door?”

She cut him a playful look as she headed toward her front door. 

The dogs pulled a repeat of the first time they met him. All of them too excited to have their mom back to play guard dog. Dany grumbled at them, but it was easy to see how much she loved them. They all got their fair share of mom-time when they weren't attempting to tackle him and his laundry to the ground. 

Once they calmed a bit she showed him to her washer and dryer and insisted his clothes had to be sorted before he could start a load. He hadn't done his own in years but figured things hadn't changed. He had a distinct memory of Catelyn yelling at him over some ruined towels Robb had actually started and managed to turn pink. 

He did his best to find all his boxers amongst the pile to save them both some embarrassment and soon enough they had a load of whites going. 

The sun was still up so they took the dogs out into her garden and played fetch and frisbee with them until all three had flopped down at their feet panting. When she deemed it time to go inside and order pizza he tried to keep his excitement contained. It had been six years, but he hadn't forgotten the trifecta of bliss that was chewy bread, gooey cheese, and rich tomatoes. 

“What's your favorite?” she asked, scrolling through her phone as she leaned against her kitchen counter. 

He kept his attention on Rhaegal who had taken a shine to him for some reason and wanted a good rub above all else. “Whatever you want is good.”

“Mmmm, you better pick, I like weird stuff on my pizza. Like pineapple.”

It was impossible not to spin around and stare at her in sickened shock. _“Pineapple?_ Dany… How could you—”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Shut it. I like what I like. Now tell me what you want. I’ll get you your own.”

He scrubbed at the back of his neck with a wince. “I uh… I guess pepperoni. It was my favorite.”

_“Was?”_ she asked confused only for her face to fall. She quickly replaced it with a sweet smile. “Two pepperoni it is.” Her finger was suddenly pointing at him. “But no gorging yourself and getting sick on me.”

He laughed, his face growing hot. “I’ll do my best.” 

The pizzas arrived about thirty minutes later. The laundry had already been swapped and a second load started and the dogs were all asleep on the couch snoring away, so Dany grabbed some beers from the fridge and napkins off the table and put him in charge of carrying their pizzas to the living room. They settled in the corner of the couch and while he wasted no time digging in—he’d been fucking salavating from the moment they were passed through the door—she flipped through the channels on the telly. 

He inhaled the first slice, barely tasting it, but managed to eat the second and third at a slower pace. Dany smiled at him every time he moaned or groaned around a mouthful. He blushed, but just kept feeding himself another slice of heaven. He denied her every attempt to feed him a piece of her hot, greasy, tomato sauce covered pineapple though. His stomach turned every time she waved some under his nose which made stopping at four slices a bit easier. She took the rest to the fridge, assuring him on the way he could have a midnight snack if he got hungry later. 

He might not get hungry, but he’d definitely be having more. 

When she returned she shooed Drogon off the couch and onto the floor before eyeing him and pointing to the now empty couch. “Lay down,” she ordered. 

He raised his eyebrows at her, but jumped to do her bidding anyway. She might’ve been banishing him to sleep there for the night, or maybe, he hoped, she was about to lay down with him. He laid on his side just in case.

His hope became reality. She joined him. Cuddled up with her back to his front, her firm arse nestled tight against his hips. _And_ his cock that had been at half mast for hours. She reached back and grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together and wrapping his arm around her before tucking their hands between her breasts. “This okay?” she asked, her head tilted back to see him over her shoulder. 

“Yeah,” he answered quietly, “it's okay.” He kissed her cheek to back up his claim and she gave him a smile before she turned back around. 

They laid there for nearly two hours, just like that. Hands and mouths lazy but searching. Soft touches and slow kisses between laughing at the absurd show she picked about paranormal investigators and one pause to swap out another load of his laundry. 

It was a night spent doing what most would've found mundane, maybe even boring, but to him it all felt… 

Unreal. Like a fantasy.

And it left him terrified. 

His dreams were prone to turning into nightmares at any moment. They always had before. He couldn't help but fear this one would too. 

Dany suddenly turned over and faced him. He could barely see her with the light from the television behind her. But she was staring at him. Searching out his demons. He could feel it. 

“What's wrong?” she whispered, her thumb smoothing over his furrowed brow. 

How she knew something was wrong, he didn't know, but he dropped his forehead to hers, feeling like an arse for putting a damper on their night. “Nothin’. Just my… nerves, I guess.”

“Not about me I hope.”

“No, not you,” he whispered and gently rubbed his nose against hers, forcing a smile. 

She hummed and kissed him softly, a hand sliding under his t-shirt, around his ribs and up his back. “Is it Aerys?”

He nodded with a sigh, feeling equal parts relieved she had figured it out so easily, and sick, too. Her uncle apparently wasn't far from her mind either. Jon had a feeling he would be a constant presence between them. And as much as that filled him with dread, it also filled him with rage. Dany deserved to be free of him at the very least.

She sat up and tugged at his shirt. Figuring out what she was after, he sat up too and she maneuvered herself onto his lap. If she meant to divert his attention elsewhere she was doing a good job of it. She was far too much to ignore or be distracted from. His hands went to her hips and hers cupped his face, lifting his eyes to hers. 

“We're not going to worry about him tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow. Okay? It's just me and you right now,” she said, her eyebrows raising pointedly. 

He nodded and mumbled out an apology. 

With a shake of her head, she pulled his lips to hers and kissed him, taking her time, slowly exploring. Tasting. Teasing with teeth and tongue as his hands roamed her curves. 

She pulled away once he was good and dazed and he slowly opened his eyes to find her smirking softly at him. “Take me to bed.”

He huffed, amused. “You're bossy, you know that?”

“Mmm, hmm.” Her nails lightly scraped along his jaw, her thumb swiping across his lip. She licked hers. “You weren't telling me no were you _?”_

His nerves tried hard to kick in and steal his courage, but he ignored them and wrapped an arm around her back and pulled her against him. He kissed her, slowly sucking her top lip between his own. The bottom one got the same attention before he slipped his tongue into her mouth and drank down her soft whimper. And another before pulling away. 

“Not even close.” 

She breathed out a sigh and he stood, keeping her pinned to his chest. Her thighs wrapped around him tight, her arms around his neck. She smiled at him while he carefully worked his way to her bedroom in the dark, taking little nibbling kisses from his lips.

The dogs who had all gotten up to follow them were ordered to stay once they reached her bedroom door. He walked in and shut it behind him with his foot, his eyes locked on hers. His heart pounding. 

She slipped to her feet and he let her. Let her grab his belt buckle and pull him further into the room. Closer to the bed. She was no more than a silhouette in the dim blue haze coming through her blinds. But his hands remembered her well. Found the curves they had explored for the first time only hours before. She had his belt off and his jeans shoved to the floor in quick measure. He helped her along, stripping his shirt off and tossing it into the darkness.

Her shirt went next and then her hands were on him. Sliding up his sides as he fumbled with her bra clasp. Her lips joined in, kisses trailed across his chest. His tattoo, his scar, his nipple. A flick of her tongue. The scrape of her teeth. The wet heat of her mouth.

“Fuck, Dany.”

In his daze he almost missed them losing the rest of their clothes and found himself on his back soon after, a naked Dany straddling his hips, smiling down at him. 

“That's the plan.”

**  
  
**

—

**  
  
**

When it came time to leave her the next morning he couldn't do it. He turned off his alarm and shot Davos a text instead. 

_Had a little too much this weekend. Need a few more hours to sleep it off. I’ll be in this afternoon. Sorry._

It wasn't a complete lie...

He didn't have to wait long for a response either. 

_Hope you enjoyed it. There’ll be no more of that. Be here bright and early tomorrow. We’ll make up for it._

The old man was sure to give him hell, but as he curled himself back around a sleeping Dany, he decided he didn't much give a shit. 

“You staying?” she mumbled.

He popped his head up, startled. “Yeah, that alright?”

She only hummed her agreement, turning over into him, eyes still closed, long lashes laying against her pale cheeks, a soft curve pulling up her mouth. She threw an arm and a thigh over him and let out a long sigh as she settled back into sleep. 

For a good ten minutes he was frozen in awe, his mind unable to fully grasp his fortune. He just watched her sleep in the soft glow of dawn. Felt her warm breath blow across his skin as he listened to her breathe and reveled in her weight pressed against him. 

Eventually she stirred again and caught him staring. Gave him a sleepy smile and stroked his face. “Sleep, Jon. I’ll still be here.”

He gave in, something a lot like peace having taken him as he laid there staring at her. At least he thought it was peace; it had been so long he wasn't sure. He drifted off wondering if he had ever made her feel the same. 

**  
  
**

—

**  
  
**

“Leave all that and let's go,” she said as she opened the back door for him. 

He pulled a face, not understanding. _“Go?_ We just got here.” 

They had spent a lazy morning together at her place, but had finally folded all his laundry and decided to head back to the bar, stopping on the way for petrol and smokes. 

He dropped his laundry at the bottom of the stairs and tossed his carton of smokes on top, staring at them longingly as she tugged him back out the door by his hand. When she turned to look at him her teeth were buried in her bottom lip, her eyebrows peaked in hesitation. Whatever she was after, she was afraid to ask. 

Heart aching, he stopped them and pulled her closer. “Did you forget already?” he asked, brushing a wisp of her hair off her forehead. She pulled back slightly, confused. “I’ve got no plans to tell you no,” he reminded.

She ducked her head with a soft huff of laughter. 

He gave a gentle bump to her chin. “Ask me.” 

All her usual spark was back in her eyes when they met his. She glanced back at his bike, grinning. “Take me for a ride?”

That warmth and excitement she was continuously causing within him erupted again. He stepped closer and picked up the end of her braid, running his thumb down it as he tried not to smile at her like an idiot. “Where ya wanna go?”

“Anywhere.”

He didn't even consider denying her, heat running through him at the prospect. He plucked his helmet off the handlebars and held it out to her. “You gotta wear this,” he insisted. If anyone's skull got cracked, it wouldn't be hers. “I’ll get another one for me at some point.”

For some reason that made her smile go a bit wobbly, but she took the helmet from him and shoved it on her head. “I know where we can get one,” she told him as he buckled it under her chin for her. “It's not far from here.”

He climbed back on his bike and switched it on. Dany hooked an arm around his waist and swung herself on behind him. Tucked herself tight to his back, arms holding him close. Feeling her there spurred something to life in him. A wild buzz he wasn't sure he’d ever felt before, but it was better than any drink or drug he’d ever had. He kicked the stand up, cranked the throttle and took off. 

Dany squealed in his ear, her arms cinching around him almost painfully. He worried for a split second, but then the vibrations of her laughter soaked through her chest and into his back, the joyous sound drowned out by the wind whipping by them. He couldn't have wiped the smile off his face if he'd tried.

He didn't push it too hard, not wanting to fuck around and get her hurt, but he had fun with it. Weaving through traffic, gassing it, taking quick turns. Dany seemed to agree, laughing at one red light, and twisting him around for a kiss at another. 

Finally, after the third light caught them, she gave him directions and they wound up at the thrift store Gendry had taken him to his second day in town. She was off the bike and tugging at her helmet before he even got the key out. Her smile was brilliant, eyes alight, cheeks rosy from the wind, hair a frizzy mess thanks to the helmet. She was so perfect it hurt. 

She wound her arms around his neck as he stepped up to her. “Thank you,” she murmured. “That was the best ride I’ve ever had.” Her face scrunched adorably and she tilted her head. “Well, it was the only one I’ve ever had, but still.”

He didn't know what to do with all he was feeling, but he had the overwhelming need to kiss her, so he did. Her smile was still firmly in place when he pulled away. She took his hand in hers and tugged him toward the door. He hustled ahead and opened it for her.

It didn't take him long to decide shopping with her was a lot more fun than it was with Gendry and Grey. Maybe it was just being with her made him forget all the shit that haunted them—past, present, and future. He could just _be_ for once.

She knew her way around too, or just had a nose for finding treasures amongst all the junk. Another helmet was her first find. She tried on several and once he’d made sure her favorite was free of scrapes and cracks he deemed it good enough. 

They wandered around for another half hour, looking at any and everything just for the hell of it. Clothes, books, records. Dany picked several of those and he was pleased to learn she liked lots of the same music he did. Older tunes, classics. And even some 90’s grunge. He lucked up and spotted a couple of old cameras, and she didn't waste a minute encouraging him to get both. Though she did tease him about not liking the camera on his phone. But to him it wasn't the same, he wanted to hold the pictures in his hands. Keep them in his wallet, or stuck to his fridge. Once she showed him she could order film for them online he caved and added them to their haul. 

They were on the way to the register to pay for it all when his feet stalled. His eyes hung on a bright red and blue _ball_ on a display loaded down with toys _._

Dany grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “What is it?”

He couldn't take his eyes off of it, memories invading his mind, so shockingly clear it was as if they'd happened only a few days before. He reached out and picked it up, turning it round and round. The yellow pieces tumbled and clattered inside, easily seen through the different cutouts. 

“Arya had one of these when she was a little thing. She loved it. And hated it. She'd get so mad when she couldn't get the pieces to fit right. Beat all the edges up tryin’ to force ‘em. I’d help her sometimes,” he murmured, realizing he was smiling at the old toy. “I liked how happy it made her to see ‘em fall in.”

_Her pudgy hands gripped the star piece—the edges dented and rough—her little round face screwed up in frustration as she desperately tried to force it through the triangle slot, banging and beating until finally giving up with a shout of outrage and holding it up to him. “Fix s’it, Jon Jon. Fix s’it!”_

__

_As always he took the piece from her trying his best not to laugh and spun the shape sorter around until he found the right slot. “This is a star. See, five points. One, two, three, four, five,” he counted them out for her. “Can you count ‘em? Right here?” he asked, pointing to the star slot._

__

_Her fat little finger poked out and slowly counted each one. “One, twoo, tree, foor, FIVE!”_

__

_“Good job! Now, what is it?” he asked, holding up the piece again._

__

_“‘Tar!”_

__

_He laughed. “That's right. A star. Now put it in the star slot.”_

__

_She snatched it out of his hand and smashed it around until it slipped right through. Of course she squealed and clapped, beyond proud of herself._

__

_He held a hand up and she gave him a high five, giggling up a storm. “Do it ‘gin, Jon Jon. Do it ‘gin!”_

She had been so fucking cute. So loud and wild. The total opposite of Sansa. Catelyn had always fussed at her, just like she did him. Neither of them ever lived up to her expectations. Him especially. No matter what he did. Or how hard he tried. He was never enough. Always… _wrong._

“I never fit.”

“What?”

He startled at the soft voice and jerked his head up to see Dany staring back at him. He felt oddly split in half. Or lost in the empty expanse between past and present. No closer to one than the other. But he knew no matter how his chest ached to go back to the place before it all went wrong, he couldn't. It didn't exist anymore. But he might have found a better place. An even happier place. 

He set the sorter back on the shelf, careful to leave it just how he found it, and turned back to Dany. 

She wasn't annoyed. Or bored. She didn't look impatient. She was just standing there, giving him time. Waiting for him to find what he needed. His hand still held in hers. 

He flashed her a quick smile and dropped his eyes to their tangled fingers. Ran his thumb across the back of her hand. “With my family. I was the piece that never fit. No matter how I tried to force it. No matter how I beat myself up just like Arya did those pieces. I didn't fit.”

Dany closed the space between them. Her other hand came up and tucked some of his unruly hair behind his ear. His eyes shot to hers on reflex. She was smiling. “You fit me just fine.” 

He flushed and looked away, making sure no one was close enough to have overheard her, since his mind had gone straight to the gutter, remembering just how well he _fit_ her. 

Her soft laughter had him meeting her eyes again. She scrunched her nose at him. “You perv, I didn't mean it that way.”

His ears grew hot and she laughed all the more. “Sorry,” he muttered.

She pressed in closer, her scent filling his head. His arm went around her without thought. “Don’t be. You do fit me really well that way, but I meant something else.”

He wanted to ask what that something else was, but a baby squealed behind them and they startled apart, turning to see a mom with her two little ones perched in a buggy on the other side of the toy display. She cut them an annoyed glare. Dany grabbed his hand and they hurried off, both flushed and biting back grins. 

**  
  
**

—

**  
  
**

_When the night has come_

_And the land is dark_

_And the moon is the only light we'll see_

_No I won't be afraid_

_Oh, I won't be afraid_

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me_

_So darling, darling_

_Stand by me, oh stand by me_

_Oh stand, stand by me_

_Stand by me_

They were dancing in the middle of his loft. He was absolute shit at it, but she didn't seem to care. He’d let her talk him into it easily enough once they’d got there, carrying up an old record player they’d found languishing in the bar storeroom. 

She’d carefully cleaned it while giving him a list of reasons records far surpassed all other means of music when it came to dancing. He’d listened, trying not to smile too much over her seriousness as he unpacked his laundry, made his bed, and finally got to have his first smoke of the day. 

Before he knew it she was teaching him the basics to the likes of Otis Redding and Van Morrison. 

Despite her patience and lack of teasing, he’d given up on lessons after the third song and had simply pulled her back to his chest and buried his face in her sweet smelling neck. Just wanting to hold her. It was only thanks to Dany that they kept spinning and swaying. 

_If the sky that we look upon_

_Should tumble and fall_

_Or the mountain should crumble to the sea_

_I won't cry, I won't cry_

_No, I won't shed a tear_

_Just as long as you stand, stand by me_

_And darling, darling_

_Stand by me, oh stand by me_

_Oh stand now, stand by me_

_Stand by me_

“Let's be good to each other,” she murmured, turning her face into his. 

He nuzzled into her cheek. “I thought we already were.”

“I mean tomorrow and the next day, and the next.”

He’d always believed his heart was as broken as it could get, but she had the uncanny ability to crack it wide open. He pressed his lips to her temple and held her a little tighter. “I plan on being good to you for as long as I have left, Dany.” 

Experience told him that probably wouldn't be long, but he’d give all of himself to her until the end inevitably came. 

She turned around in his arms and latched herself to him, so tight he could barely breathe. “Me too,” she whispered, “I promise.”

“Aye, so do I,” he swore, proud his voice only caught a little. 

Without another word, he picked her up and carried her to bed, intent on holding her until both of them had their fill, however long it took. 

**  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
